Deguello
by Trish Bennett
Summary: The Klingons' test of the Organian Peace Treaty leaves James T. Kirk in a fight for his life. But the Klingons may have underestimated the strength of human ingenuity... and the power of a particular friendship. Novel-length TOS fiction.
1. Prologue

DEGUELLO - Prologue  
by Trish Bennett   
  
James Kirk strode briskly through the darkened corridors of Federation Starbase Eleven toward the Administrative section of the station. He was tired, hungry and decidedly annoyed by the circumstances which brought him here.   
  
The Enterprise had once again been called into service as a very large, highly prestigious taxi cab, this time to chauffeur the Tamolian Ambassador to a diplomatic conference at the station. It was not exactly the kind of adventure Kirk had envisioned when he took command of a Federation starship.   
  
He had hoped their late-evening arrival would allow him to bid the Ambassador a quick but pleasant farewell, and then the Enterprise could continue on its way to their next assignment with only a minimal loss of time. Unfortunately, there had been a message awaiting him at Station Operations that Admiral Fitzpatrick wished to speak with him upon arrival.   
  
As much as Kirk enjoyed the friendship he shared with John Fitzpatrick, it was just an added complication to an already wasted day.   
  
He paused only briefly at the door of the Admiral's office before reaching to activate the buzzer. Almost immediately, the door slid aside, and he found himself face to face with the white-haired Starfleet Admiral.   
  
"Jim," Fitzpatrick said warmly, offering a handshake which Kirk accepted graciously. "Come on in. Make yourself comfortable."   
  
"Thank you, Admiral," he replied, stepping into the room.   
  
A brandy snifter seemed to appear from nowhere in the Admiral's hand, and he handed it to Kirk as the Captain sank into a plushly upholstered chair.   
  
"I hope the Ambassador didn't give you any trouble," Fitzpatrick said as he dropped himself onto the sofa adjacent to Kirk's chair and raised his own glass to his lips.   
  
"Nothing we couldn't handle, Sir," Kirk replied ruefully. "But I must admit, the Enterprise makes a rather expensive shuttle service."   
  
A smile played on the Admiral's lips, but only for a moment. "Sorry. I know how much you hate that, but it was the only way I could get you here without raising too many eyebrows."   
  
Kirk had just taken a swig of his drink and suddenly had to force himself to swallow it. He had thought this was nothing more than a social call on an old friend. Apparently it was something else entirely.   
  
"That sounds ominous," he said as lightly as he could manage.   
  
"Believe me, it is." Fitzpatrick settled himself back against the sofa as he continued. "I don't know if you're aware of it or not, but the Klingons have been unusually quiet the past several months."   
  
"Yes, Sir, I am," he admitted. "It gives me the impression they're gearing up for something."   
  
"That was my impression, as well." Fitzpatrick's voice was grim. "And unfortunately, intelligence reports indicate that we may be right. It appears the Klingons have decided to test the Organian Peace Treaty."   
  
"You mean launch an attack to see if the Organians will respond?"   
  
Fitzpatrick nodded. "Exactly."   
  
Kirk was not surprised by the news. In fact, he had always thought it was only a matter of time. He was surprised, however, that the Admiral was sharing this information with him.   
  
"I assume there's a reason you're telling me this," he prompted.   
  
Fitzpatrick's pale blue eyes studied him closely. When he finally spoke, his voice was edged with heartfelt concern.   
  
"According to the intelligence reports, you are to be the target of the attack."   
  
Kirk chuckled quickly, more in disbelief than actual amusement. This had to be someone's idea of a joke.   
  
"They're going to test the treaty by attacking the Federation's flagship?" It was absolutely absurd, especially for a military organization as efficient and well-ordered as the Klingons. "Setting their sights a little high just to test the proverbial waters, aren't they?"   
  
Fitzpatrick continued to gaze at him steadily, and it was becoming an uncomfortable sensation.   
  
"It's not the Enterprise, Jim. It's you."   
  
It was probably the tone of his voice more than the actual words that sent the chill up Kirk's spine. He could only hope it wasn't a noticeable reaction.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"We can't know for certain," Fitzpatrick replied. "But personally, I can think of several reasons. You're a Starship Captain...certainly the most publicized one. There are people who don't know the name of the Council President, but they know you. To those people, you are the Federation. So if the Klingons can destroy you, they destroy morale. Then the rest is easy."   
  
The perks of notoriety, Kirk thought ruefully but said instead, "You obviously have a counter-offensive in mind."   
  
Fitzpatrick leaned forward to place his glass on the table before him, and retained that position with his forearms resting on his knees.   
  
"The way I see it, we can handle this one of two ways. We can beef up security, rework the Enterprise's mission docket, and keep you out of the line of fire..."   
  
"Or...?"   
  
"...or we can let them make the attempt. Only we'll be ready for them."   
  
It was obvious the Admiral favored the second option, and Kirk had to agree. He refused to spend any amount of time in what could only be considered Starfleet's protective custody.   
  
"I'm going to be honest with you, Jim," Fitzpatrick continued. "There has been speculation on both sides of the Neutral Zone as to whether the Organians would actually enforce the treaty. We've never considered testing it because, quite frankly, the terms of the treaty are acceptable to us. And it's better than constantly living on the brink of war."   
  
"But since the Klingons have decided to force the issue..."   
  
"We are understandably curious."   
  
Kirk raised his glass to his lips as he considered his options. Any way he looked at it, he was to be the pawn in the Klingons' war game. His only choice was whether he would play the role willingly or unwillingly. It wasn't much of a choice.   
  
"Let's do it," he said at last.   
  
"Jim, I want you to think about this." The man on the sofa was no longer Admiral Fitzpatrick of Starfleet Command, but John Fitzpatrick, colleague and friend. "We will be as prepared as we can possibly be, but if something goes wrong, you'll be dead. There's no doubt in my mind."   
  
"Then we'll have to make sure nothing goes wrong, won't we?"   
  
Kirk saw a mixture of sadness and respect in Fitzpatrick's eyes as they gazed at each other in silence. At last, the elder officer inhaled deeply and straightened his spine. The Starfleet Admiral was back.   
  
"All right," he said finally. "We know the Klingons have obtained the Enterprise's mission docket, so we'll try to make as few changes to it as possible. We don't want to arouse their suspicions. We don't expect them to move for several months...possibly weeks, but I think that would be pushing it. Until we know more, it's business as usual. We'll work out the details of our plan once we know more details of theirs."   
  
Kirk leaned forward to place his glass on the table, then settled back in his chair.   
  
"I have only one condition to this agreement, Admiral. I don't want the Enterprise involved."   
  
The Admiral's face fell. "That's a big condition, Jim."   
  
"I know that. But I won't endanger my ship or my crew just because the Klingons have some personal vendetta against me."   
  
"Any sudden changes we make could be considered suspicious," Fitzpatrick insisted. "We don't want to risk tipping our hand."   
  
"Then don't make it sudden...and make it to my personal docket. Get me off the Enterprise. Give the Klingons an opportunity they can't resist. But I don't want the Enterprise anywhere near when this goes down, John. I want your word on it."   
  
Fitzpatrick closed his eyes briefly and exhaled an audible sigh before he finally met the Captain's steady gaze.   
  
"I don't have any guarantees for you, Jim...but I will tell you this. I will do everything within my power to keep the Enterprise out of harm's way. That's the only promise I can give."   
  
It was not quite the steadfast assurance he was hoping for, but Kirk knew it was the best he was going to get. He finally nodded.   
  
"Fair enough."   
  
Fitzpatrick rose from his seat, and Kirk followed his lead. The Admiral was nearly a head taller than he was, and Kirk had to tip his chin to look into his haggard face.   
  
"I'm sure I don't have to tell you that what you've heard here tonight is highly classified. The fewer people who know about this, the better."   
  
"Agreed."   
  
This time it was the Captain who offered the handshake. When Fitzpatrick accepted it, he gripped Kirk's hand firmly in his own.   
  
"The Enterprise is scheduled for shore leave in a few days," he said. "I suggest you take advantage of it. It may be the last chance you get for a while."   
  



	2. Chapter 1

DEGUELLO - Chapter 1  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Captain James T. Kirk ran a comb through his wet hair, then stepped back to study the mirror image before him. The strong, handsome features that stared back at him looked tired, almost as tired as he felt. And the hazel eyes that usually sparkled with enthusiasm seemed to have dimmed somehow.   
  
He needed a rest, he decided as he reached for his towel, just a few days' leave on some planet where the natives had never even heard of the Federation. Or the Enterprise. Or James T. Kirk.   
  
He chuckled to himself as he slid into his pajamas, one of the few civilian clothing items he still owned, and his thoughts drifted back to his Academy days. He remembered it as vividly as if it were yesterday. He was going to be a Starship Captain. He would have power. He would have prestige. He would be feared, yet respected. And everyone would know his name.   
  
Kirk shook his head with gentle amusement and said aloud, "Be careful what you wish for..."   
  
He looked back at the face in the mirror. He had everything he had always wanted -- the ship, the power, the respect -- and he was content. But God he was tired!   
  
Stepping out of the bathroom, he glanced at the chronometer on his desk. Spock's shift would be ending in a few minutes, and he would invariably make sure to deliver the shift reports safely into Kirk's hands before he retired. Though not really necessary, it was a routine the Vulcan had established a long time ago. He would leave no loose ends for someone else to tie up for him. Spock was nothing if not efficient.   
  
Kirk decided that, if he had to wait, he might as well be comfortable. He crossed in front of his desk and dropped himself down on the sofa along the wall. He waited only a moment before he swung his legs up to lay flat on his back, his hands clasped behind his head.   
  
He closed his eyes, something he couldn't remember doing for what seemed like days. And though he knew it was impossible, he could have sworn he felt the steady drone of the ship's engines vibrate through him, as if they were his own blood coursing through his veins. He was comfortable. He was at peace.   
  
He was nearly asleep when the door buzzer cut through the silence. Kirk did not even open his eyes.   
  
"Come," he called out, releasing the voice-activated lock. When he heard the doors slide open, he said, "Come on in, Spock."   
  
"Is that any kind of thing to say to a friend?"   
  
Kirk's eyes opened as he recognized the voice, and he rolled to one side, propping himself up on one elbow.   
  
"Sorry, Bones," he said, smiling, as Leonard McCoy ambled into the room, a bottle of brownish liquid in hand. Without waiting for an invitation, he moved to Kirk's desk, opened a drawer and withdrew two glasses. He removed the stopper from the bottle as he spoke.   
  
"You look positively civilian," he said, studying Kirk closely. "You sick?"   
  
"I hope not," Kirk replied, sitting up to accept the glass McCoy was offering. "At times, it seems the only thing my Chief Surgeon stocks in his pharmacy is alcohol."   
  
McCoy shrugged and moved back to the desk. He seated himself in the chair and leaned back, raising his feet to rest them on the corner of the desk.   
  
"I haven't seen you turn down a prescription yet."   
  
Kirk took a swig of his drink, and his eyes widened slightly. His voice was raspy when he spoke again.   
  
"And you won't. Where do you keep coming up with this stuff, anyway?"   
  
"Now, Jim..." McCoy replied, his voice reflecting a bit more Southern drawl than usual. "You know I always keep a little something around for special occasions. As for how I get it...well, I'd probably be better off if you didn't know."   
  
Kirk grinned. "You're probably right." He took another drink, then nestled himself back against the sofa. "So, what's the special occasion this time?"   
  
The door buzzer sounded, and Kirk called for Spock to enter. McCoy responded as the door slid open, ignoring the interruption.   
  
"Shore leave, my boy," the Doctor said happily. "Shore leave. One of the best reasons I can think of for a celebration."   
  
Mr. Spock had barely raised an eyebrow upon entering the Captain's quarters and finding McCoy lounging comfortably behind Kirk's desk, and it took only a brief instant for him to locate Kirk on the sofa and hand him the shift reports. But the opening seemed too much for even the Vulcan to resist.   
  
"Really, Doctor?" he asked in his best adversarial tone. "I had no idea you sought a reason to consume your whiskey. I merely thought you were carrying on another old family tradition."   
  
McCoy never lost the amused glint in his eyes as he looked from the Captain to Spock, then back again.   
  
"Who invited him to this party, anyway?"   
  
Kirk shot him a disapproving glare as he finished signing the reports, then rose to hand them back to Spock.   
  
"No one yet," he answered. "How about it, Spock? Care to join us?"   
  
The First Officer appeared almost smug. "Thank you, Captain, but I think not. If you'll excuse me, Sir..."   
  
"Of course," Kirk said, somewhat disappointed. "Good night, Spock."   
  
The Vulcan nodded toward McCoy. "Doctor," he said, then turned on his heel and strode through the doors into the corridor. Kirk watched after him a moment before turning back to McCoy.   
  
"Why do you do that?" he asked wearily.   
  
McCoy did his best to look innocent. "Do what?"   
  
"Why do you antagonize him so much?"   
  
McCoy offered him a shrug. "Sibling rivalry," he replied with a grin, reaching for the bottle to refill his empty glass.   
  
"You make him uncomfortable."   
  
"I didn't know a Vulcan could be uncomfortable." McCoy must have known his attempt at humor was not appeasing the Captain, for he rolled his eyes in reluctant concession. "Look, Jim, if I didn't tease him about something or other, he'd probably think I was mad at him."   
  
Kirk stared at his friend, then shook his head and moved to drop himself back onto the sofa. He rubbed his tired eyes.   
  
"I just wish you'd try to get along with him."   
  
"I get along with him better than you know," the Doctor snapped grumpily. He took another swill of bourbon before he continued. "If you ask me, you're the one who should try a little harder to get along."   
  
The statement came as a complete surprise to Kirk. He lowered his hand and gazed at the Doctor inquisitively.   
  
"With whom?"   
  
"With yourself."   
  
Now it was Kirk's turn to roll his eyes. Here we go, he thought. He had been hoping to make it to shore leave without another you're-only-a-man lecture from McCoy, but now that hope appeared to be wishful thinking at best.   
  
The Doctor swung his feet off the edge of the desk and leaned forward in his chair, his classic verbal combat position.   
  
"Look at you," he said. "You've been running on pure adrenalin for damn near a month now. How long do you think you can keep up this pace? You're not eating right. You only sleep when you think you can spare a few minutes..."   
  
"I don't need a nursemaid, Bones!" Kirk snapped, then suddenly wondered what he was so angry about. He had just been thinking the same thing himself a few minutes ago. Finally, more calmly, he said, "I'm just doing my job."   
  
"Yeah...yours, mine and everyone else's." McCoy was adamant. "You know, if you don't stop pushing yourself so hard, you'll be dead before you're forty."   
  
Kirk sipped at his drink, trying to control his flaring temper. McCoy had no idea how prophetic that statement might actually be. But the Doctor was a good friend, and deep down Kirk knew he was right. The argument was an old one, though, one which Kirk knew would never be resolved to either's satisfaction. They were both too stubborn to back down.   
  
"Do we have to argue about this?" he said finally. "We've only got a couple more days until shore leave. I can certainly last that long, can't I?"   
  
McCoy sighed and leaned back in the chair, cradling his glass in his hands.   
  
"I don't want to fight about it, either. I'll just lose again anyway." He remained silent a moment before finally asking, "So, have you selected a landing party for tomorrow yet?"   
  
The Doctor appeared to be changing the subject. Kirk, however, was suspicious.   
  
"Yes..." he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why?"   
  
"Just curious," McCoy shrugged. "Who'd you pick?"   
  
Kirk knew where this was headed, but decided to answer the question anyway. "Lieutenant Foster from Security; Ensign Graham..."   
  
"The Biologist," McCoy broke in, nodding his approval of the selection. "I know him. Kind of young, but he's a good man."   
  
"...and Lieutenant Girard," Kirk continued, ignoring the interruption. "Geology."   
  
The Doctor continued to gaze at him, as if he expected more of a list. "And?"   
  
Kirk was irritated now and made very little effort to hide it.   
  
"And me. What's your point, Doctor?"   
  
"I think you just made my point...Captain," he replied calmly. "You have a ship full of people who could lead a research team that strong on the exploration of an uninhabited planet. Hell, let Spock do it. You know how he thrives on that stuff..."   
  
"The decision's been made, Bones. I'd appreciate it if you would just drop the subject."   
  
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Kirk regretted the harshness of his tone. Outwardly, however, he did not waver.   
  
McCoy stared at him solemnly. "All right," he finally conceded. "I just one have more thing to say, and after that, I'll never mention it again."   
  
Kirk privately doubted that but continued to listen.   
  
"If you believe your own press, you're a Superman," McCoy said smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that Kirk wondered just how long he had rehearsed it. "But the cold, hard fact is you're a human being, just like everyone else. And even you are not indestructible."   
  
"I know that," Kirk muttered, shifting his eyes from McCoy's steady gaze to stare at the bottom of his glass.   
  
"Then do something about it. Ease up a little bit. Relax once in a while. Stop trying to act like you're larger than life."   
  
Kirk pursed his lips and made a concentrated effort to hold his tongue. Leonard McCoy was as pig-headed as they come. He had to know that Kirk did not become the youngest Captain in Starfleet history by easing up when the going got tough. He was also well aware that he had over four-hundred people depending on him, sometimes for their very lives. He couldn't always afford to be just life-size.   
  
Kirk finally allowed himself an audible sigh. "You're never going to stop harping on me about this, are you?"   
  
"Oh, probably," the Doctor replied smugly. "About two days after I'm dead."   
  
Kirk chuckled in weary defeat. "You know, Bones, that honestly wouldn't surprise me."   
  
McCoy returned a grin of satisfaction as he lifted his glass in the air.   
  
"Truce?"   
  
Kirk allowed a smile to cross his lips. Then he, too, raised his glass in a silent toast.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The Klingon officer straightened from his scanners and moved to stand at his commander's side on the bridge of the Imperial battle cruiser.   
  
"Commander," he announced crisply. "The Enterprise is on course. Our estimated time for its arrival remains unchanged."   
  
"Excellent," Kor responded, his eyes trained on the viewscreen before him. "Finally, I will have Kirk where I want him." A thin smile played on his lips, but there was no trace of humor in it.   
  
The officer seemed to hesitate briefly. "Commander...how can you be certain that Kirk will transport to the surface?"   
  
Kor decided to ignore the insolence of the question and slowly fingered his long mustache.   
  
"Because I know him, Ketahl. His human arrogance would not allow him to remain merely a casual observer, even in the most routine of duties."   
  
He could see the human's face clearly in his mind. He saw the confidence in the eyes, the hard line of determination in the jaw, the unremitting air of superiority in every line of his pale, human features.   
  
He had been the ram among the sheep back then. Now it was time for the ram to face the wolf. Kor's smile broadened at the thought.   
  
"He will come," he said finally. "And when he does, the Enterprise is mine."   
  



	3. Chapter 2

DEGUELLO - Chapter 2  
by Trish Bennett   
  
His few brief hours of sleep did little to offset the weariness that had plagued James Kirk for the past several weeks. He sincerely hoped the three cups of coffee which served as his breakfast would give him the boost he needed to make it through the morning.   
  
The turbolift had nearly reached its destination. Kirk suppressed a gaping yawn, straigtened his spine and squared his shoulders just as the doors opened onto the bridge of the Enterprise.   
  
Kirk immediately moved to his First Officer, who was hunched over the Science station scanners.   
  
"Report, Mr. Spock," he said, so crisply it surprised even him.   
  
Spock straightened from his task to face the Captain. "We have achieved standard orbit, Captain. Preliminary scouting probes have reported Margala 3 as an uninhabited Class "M" planet, containing a wealth of unremarkable mineral ores. Our sensors thus far would tend to agree with those findings."   
  
"Very well. Mr. Spock, continue sensor sweeps. Lieutenant Sulu, maintain standard orbit. Lieutenant Uhura, assemble the landing party and have them meet me in the Transporter Room."   
  
A chorus of "Aye, Sirs" followed him as he headed back for the turbolift.   
  
"Mr. Spock," he called without looking back, "the ship is yours." Then he promptly disappeared into the lift. So far, so good.   
  
Kirk made his way to the Transporter Room in a matter of seconds and found upon his arrival the landing party had already convened. He hesitated briefly inside the doorway, then moved to the console where Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott stood at the ready.   
  
Kirk smiled at the Engineer. "Looking forward to shore leave, Scotty?" he asked.   
  
"Aye, Captain," the Scotsman replied in his thick brogue, happily returning the grin. "I understand they've been working on a technique to regenerate dilithium at Starbase Four. It should be an interesting week."   
  
Kirk shook his head with gentle amusement. Where was McCoy, he thought, when other people thought of nothing but work? He quickly dismissed the notion and moved to mount the transporter platform. The rest of his party quickly followed suit. Kirk waited a moment for them to position themselves on the pads before he said, "Energize, Mr. Scott."   
  
Scott's hands reached for the controls, and a moment later Kirk heard the familiar hum of the transporter. In an instant, the scene around him swirled and sparkled, transforming itself into a view of scenic beauty.   
  
The first moments after transport were always a bit disconcerting, and Kirk involuntarily gasped as the warm breeze brushed his face. Fresh air and sunshine. Soft grass and trees. This place was a lot like Iowa, he thought. All except the pale lavender sky.   
  
Kirk reached for his communicator and flipped it open. "Kirk to Enterprise."   
  
Almost immediately came the familiar response. "Enterprise. Spock here."   
  
Kirk watched as the landing party fanned out to begin their various duties as he spoke.   
  
"Transport is complete, Mr. Spock. I'll contact you at regular intervals. Kirk out."   
  
The Captain closed the communicator and as he reattached it to his belt, he took his first good look at the landing party. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew nothing of these people other than what he had read in their service records. And their records were exemplary, of course. He would accept no less for the crew of the Enterprise.   
  
Kirk watched as his Security man canvassed the area. Lieutenant Anthony Foster was a tall, muscular man very near Kirk's own age. He was strong and alert, and poised for action. The Captain suddenly felt a twinge of regret that he could offer him nothing more exciting at the moment than a routine scouting patrol, and made a mental note to request his services again.   
  
He turned his attention to the Biologist McCoy had praised so highly. My God, Kirk thought, he is young! As he watched Ensign Patrick Graham collecting cell samples from the lush greenery, he was reminded of his first experience with Pavel Chekov. It was probably the eagerness of youth, Kirk decided, that inspired the comparison, for the two had little else in common. Graham was tall and lanky, and seemed to have nothing on his mind other than the business at hand. He also seemed acutely nervous, though he made a valiant effort to hide it.   
  
Suddenly the Captain's attention was drawn to the team's Geologist, Lieutenant Martina Girard, who had been running tricorder readings since their arrival. She was relatively new to the Enterprise, but Kirk was surprised he had never noticed the dark-eyed brunette before. Business was business and his crew were romantically off-limits, but as McCoy was so fond of reminding him, the Captain was only human. And extreme feminine beauty was hard for him to ignore.   
  
She must have sensed him watching her, for she looked up from her scanner to meet his steady gaze.   
  
He smiled lightly. "Carry on, Lieutenant."   
  
"Yes, Sir," she replied quickly, returning a pleasant smile.   
  
As he surveyed his crew carrying out their assigned duties, Kirk suddenly felt very useless. McCoy was right. He really didn't need to be here. But it was beautiful, and the fresh air and sunshine were doing wonders for his morale. Besides, accompanying a landing party always gave him a chance to get to know the members of his crew a little better, something he found essential for a good commander.   
  
The Captain chalked his presence up to the priveleges of rank and moved to join his Security officer.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The Klingon Commander slowly drummed his fingers on the arm of the command chair and watched the Enterprise drift peacefully in her orbit, totally unaware of the cloaked enemy vessel hovering just kilometers off her bow.   
  
His officer moved to his side. "Four humans have just transported to the surface," he reported, his eyes also trained on the viewscreen.   
  
Kor's face twisted in a smile. "Kirk is with them," he said after a moment. "Bring him to me."   
  
"And the others?"   
  
The Commander pondered the question. "They may be of value," he decided finally. "I leave it to your judgement."   
  
The officer nodded abruptly and left Kor staring at the viewscreen in glorious anticipation of victory.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
On the bridge of the Enterprise, Ensign Pavel Chekov was manning the Science station scanners. Something in the scanning field suddenly caught his attention.   
  
"Mr. Spock," he said, his voice rising in the tone of a question.   
  
The First Officer gazed at him from the command chair. "Yes, Ensign?"   
  
"Sir," he said, excitement and confusion blending with his heavy Russian accent. "Scanners are picking up an unusual energy surge."   
  
Spock was out of his chair and halfway to the Science station before the young Ensign had even finished his sentence.   
  
"From the planet surface?" he asked.   
  
Chekov continued to stare intently into the scanner. "No, Sir. It's just...there. Several kilometers off our starboard bow. Irregular...fluctuating...but it's definitely there."   
  
He obligingly stepped back from the scanner and allowed Spock to study the readings.   
  
"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock said without looking up. "Hail the Captain."   
  
"What is it, Mr. Spock?" Chekov asked.   
  
"Unknown, Ensign. Possibly a naturally occuring space distortion. I shall need further data..."   
  
Kirk's voice suddenly filled the bridge. "Kirk here. What is it?"   
  
"Unknown, Captain. An unusual energy reading on our scanners, several kilometers off the starboard bow. It is being analyzed now."   
  
"Is the ship at risk?" Kirk asked.   
  
"Not at present, Captain," Spock replied. "We shall continue to monitor the situation."   
  
"Very well." Kirk seemed content that the ship was in good hands. "Carry on, Mr. Spock. Keep me informed. We've got a job to do down here. We might as well..."   
  
The energy surge suddenly made its appearance as the Klingon cruiser swiftly decloaked, its menacing form filling the viewscreen and its close proximity setting off alarms at nearly every station on the Enterprise. The wail of sirens and the flurry of voices and activity from the bridge crew completely eclipsed the Captain's voice.   
  
"Red Alert!" Spock shouted immediately. "Shields up! All hands, battle stations!" He quickly made his way back to the command chair, leaving Chekov to man the Science station.   
  
Kirk's voice was demanding information. Spock quickly seated himself in the chair at the center of the bridge.   
  
"Lieutenant Uhura, have the Transporter Room stand by to bring the landing party aboard. Begin hailing the Klingon vessel." Then his hand moved to activate the communicator at the arm of his chair. "Captain, a Klingon battle cruiser has just decloaked off our starboard bow. Red Alert and Battle Stations have been activated. The Transporter Room is standing by to beam the landing party aboard. We shall lower the shields..."   
  
"Keep those shields up!" Kirk's voice was adamant. "Have they activated their weapon systems?"   
  
Spock glanced quickly toward Chekov. The Ensign responded directly.   
  
"Affirmative, Captain. Weapon systems activated, but they have not yet opened fire."   
  
"Nor are they responding to our hails, Captain," Spock added after checking their status with Uhura. "I must insist that you beam aboard, Captain. You and the landing party are in grave danger."   
  
"No arguments, Spock," Kirk barked. "Take the ship out of orbit if you have to, but you are not to lower those shields. Do I make myself clear?"   
  
Spock's face hardened. "Affirmative," he responded in a voice that matched the expression.   
  
The turbolift doors opened and Spock noted Doctor McCoy's entrance to the bridge. He had been expecting it, as he often noted the Doctor spent almost as much time on the bridge of the Enterprise as he did. Spock decided to ignore his presence, but McCoy moved to his customary position beside the command chair. Thankfully, he remained silent.   
  
"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock said without turning to face her. "Any reponse from the Klingon vessel?"   
  
"No, Mr. Spock," she replied. "They're receiving our transmission. They're just ignoring it."   
  
"Mr. Spock!" Chekov called from the scanners. "The Klingons have just activated their transporter!"   
  
Spock rose from his chair as the Ensign straightened from the viewer. When he turned to face the First Officer, his face was white.   
  
"Sir," he said. "The landing party...they've taken the landing party!"   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Spock's words had struck the Captain like a dead weight at the pit of his stomach. A Klingon battle cruiser. He felt almost betrayed. Two days ago in the safe confines of the Admiral's office, he had been assured that the Klingons would not be ready for months. How could they have been so wrong?   
  
Kirk was in the process of assembling is landing party when he felt the tingle of the transporter beam. Spock had disobeyed his direct order, and Kirk was furious. Loyalty to his commanding officer aside, Spock had no right to jeopardize the ship. And he was definitely going to hear about it.   
  
"Dammit, Spock!" he shouted as the materialization ended and he started to dismount the platform. A second later, he noticed an unpleasant stench. A moment after that, he noticed the Klingon disrupters that were leveled at him and his landing party. The Captain stopped dead in his tracks.   
  
Before he had time to move or speak or think, Lieutenant Foster had drawn his phaser. It proved to be a fatal mistake. Kirk turned just in time to see his Security officer disintegrate in the disrupter's deadly beam, a sight that hit the Captain harder than a disrupter blast ever could. Kirk looked into the frightened faces of his crew, then slowly back to face his captors.   
  
One of the three Klingons that greeted them mounted the transporter platform to relieve them of their weapons and equipment. The humans offered no resistance. They were silently shackled, their hands before them, and ushered into the rank, dismal corridor of the Klingon battle cruiser.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
On the bridge of the Enterprise, Spock's mind was racing. His outward appearance, however, remained deathly calm. The entire bridge was silent except for the steady hum and whir of the equipment. Though visibly shaken, Ensign Chekov had returned to his duties at the scanners.   
  
"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock said finally, breaking the eerie silence. "Open hailing frequencies."   
  
"Aye, Sir," she replied, her voice almost a whisper. Her slender fingers danced across the controls before her.   
  
"Klingon Commander," Spock said firmly. "This is the U.S.S. Enterprise. First Officer Spock speaking. You have violated Neutral Zone treaty and entered Federation space. You have abducted key Federation personnel. We demand the immediate release of our landing party and an explanation of your actions. Please respond."   
  
He had honestly expected no response, and he received none. He repeated the effort anyway.   
  
"Klingon Commander, this is the Enterprise. We demand the immediate release of our landing party and are awaiting your reply. Please respond."   
  
This time he did receive a response, but it was not the one he had hoped for. The Klingon cruiser suddenly banked and fled, swiftly disappearing behind the veil of its cloaking shield.   
  
"Mr. Chekov," Spock said quickly. "Are you still detecting the energy surge?"   
  
"Yes, Mr. Spock," the Ensign replied. "Moving away at...warp four."   
  
"Mr. Sulu," Spock said evenly, reseating himself. "Plot an intercept course. Warp factor four."   
  



	4. Chapter 3

DEGUELLO - Chapter 3  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Kirk had walked silently, flanked on both sides by the Klingon guards. His officers followed closely behind him, the third Klingon taking up the rear of the procession. They were led to a room at the end of the rank corridor. The doors opened noisily, and the three Enterprise officers were pushed forceably into the room.   
  
It was sparsely furnished, Kirk noted, used as a cafeteria perhaps, or some sort of recreation room. Klingon recreation, however, was something he preferred not to think about at the moment. He steadied himself and turned to face the guards.   
  
"What is the meaning of this?" he snapped angrily. "I demand to see your commanding officer!"   
  
The Klingon steadfastly ignored him and moved in on the Federation officers. Kirk tensed, ready to seize any opportunity, but the Klingon moved swiftly. He grasped the heavy manacles that bound the Captain's wrists and forced his arms above his head, hooking the shackles securely into a niche in the overhead beam which ran the length of the room.   
  
The others quickly followed suit, and in a moment the Enterprise officers were secured, side by side, positioned several feel apart. Kirk struggled with the restraints, but to no avail. He could not budge them.   
  
The trio of Klingons, apparently satisfied with their work, moved toward the doorway.   
  
"I demand to see your commanding officer!" Kirk repeated.   
  
Their captors, however, did not even look back as they marched single-file through the doors into the corridor. After a moment, the doors slid shut, and the humans were left alone to ponder their fate.   
  
Kirk felt absolutely numb. Everything had happened so quickly and unexpectedly that he didn't know what to think, how to feel, or how he should react.   
  
Admiral Fitzpatrick had said that the Klingons wanted him. Well, they got him, and with little apparent effort. It had been like taking candy from a baby. So where the hell was Starfleet when a Klingon battle cruiser crossed through the Neutral Zone and entered Federation space? Apparently they were busy writing intelligence reports.   
  
This wasn't supposed to be happening yet. He was supposed to be prepared for this. And more importantly, the Enterprise wasn't supposed to be anywhere around.   
  
But the Enterprise was around, mere kilometers away. And Kirk wasn't alone, as he had intended. He had an entire landing party with him, only two of whom were still alive. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.   
  
Someone had dropped the ball. And someone was going to pay for it.   
  
In the meantime, though, he had to concentrate on the present. He had to find a way to get himself and his landing party back to he Enterprise before anything else went wrong.   
  
They were apparently in the Klingon brig, although a stranger set-up Kirk had never seen. Their restraints seemed to be engineered for the niches in the beam, but in the middle of a recreation room?   
  
As the Captain studied the shackles, he was reminded of sketches he had seen of restraints used for prisoners in 18th century America...stocks, he believed they were called. Prisoners were put on public display, held up to ridicule and abuse. Perhaps that was the Klingon reasoning, as well. Confine their prisoners and amuse their crew at the same time. Kill two birds with one stone.   
  
The manacles themselves appeared to be inescapable. It was a simple design, consisting of two solid metal bands hinged on one end and locked on the other. The arcs in the bands that fit the wrists were approximately two inches apart, and the openings were small so that cold steel bit uncomfortably into flesh at the slightest movement. The palms of his hands faced each other, a perfect position if he felt the need for a quick prayer. How convenient.   
  
Kirk finally turned his head to look at his crew. Their faces were pale.   
  
"Are you two all right?" he asked softly. He received two silent nod in response.   
  
Ensign Graham's voice was a strangled whisper when he finally spoke. "I've never seen anyone die before."   
  
The sight of Lieutenant Foster flashed quickly in Kirk's mind. He could empathize with the young man very well.   
  
"I have," Kirk confessed grimly. "Believe me, Ensign, it doesn't get any easier."   
  
Graham's eyes met his briefly, then quickly turned away.   
  
"What's going to happen to us, Captain?" Martina Girard asked in a small voice.   
  
Kirk heaved a sigh as he surveyed their dismal surroundings.   
  
"I don't know, Lieutenant," he replied finally, looking back toward the door. "But I guarantee, there's going to be hell to pay."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Mr. Spock," Sulu said, turning from his station to face the Vulcan in the command chair. "If we continue on our present course, we will reach the edge of the Neutral Zone in approximately two hours."   
  
"Understood, Lieutenant," Spock replied. The information came as no surprise to him. "Lieutenant Uhura, get me a secured channel to Starfleet Command. I wish to speak with Admiral Fitzpatrick."   
  
Concern showed in her dark face as she busied herself at the Communications console. Finally Spock allowed himself to look at McCoy, who was still planted firmly beside him.   
  
"You have something to say, Doctor?" he said. It was more a statement than an actual question.   
McCoy, who had been observing the proceedings with all the patience he could muster, appeared to be ready to burst.   
  
"Well?" he demanded. "What are you going to do, Spock?"   
  
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow as he looked back at the viewscreen. He thought the answer to that was obvious.   
  
"I am going to consider our alternatives, Doctor."   
  
"What alternatives?" McCoy snapped. "The Captain has been kidnapped, Mr. Spock! We have to get him back!"   
  
Spock was spared the nuisance of having to respond to such a statement when Uhura's voice drifted over his shoulder.   
  
"Mr. Spock, I have Admiral Fitzpatrick."   
  
"On screen, Lieutenant," he replied.   
  
In an instant, the star field disappeared and the viewscreen was filled with the kindly image of Admiral Fitzpatrick seated behind his desk.   
  
"Commander Spock," he acknowledged after a moment. His voice was tinged with concern. "What's this all about?"   
  
"Admiral," Spock began, carefully selecting his words. "Captain Kirk and his landing party have been abducted from Margala 3. It was a Klingon battle cruiser, Admiral. The Enterprise is in pursuit."   
  
"What?" The Admiral's face blanched almost instantly until it was nearly as white as his hair.   
  
"The Captain and his landing party have been..."   
  
"I heard you, Commander," Fitzpatrick snapped, then slumped forward in his chair and covered his face with his hand. After a moment, he lowered the hand and his eyes once again met Spock's.   
  
"I suppose I don't need to ask their heading?" he said.   
  
"They are on a direct course to the Neutral Zone, Admiral. We anticipate they shall reach the zone in approximately two hours."   
  
"It was a single ship?"   
  
"As far as we know, Sir," Spock replied. "We have been unable to establish contact with the Klingon vessel, and are still uncertain of their motives."   
  
Fitzpatrick ran his fingers through his wavy white hair and pondered the situation thoughtfully before he spoke again.   
  
"Mr. Spock," he said solemnly. "I will have to bring this to the attention of the Federation Council. Do what you can, but you are not to take the Enterprise into the Neutral Zone. Is that clear, Commander?"   
  
"Quite clear, Admiral." It was also quite expected.   
  
"Very well. I shall expect a full report. Keep me informed. Fitzpatrick out." The image on the screen returned to the field of stars.   
  
"Do what you can?" McCoy bellowed, voicing the obvious opinion of the entire bridge crew. "What kind of advice is that? Do what you can!"   
  
Spock allowed himself a barely audible sigh. He had far too much on his mind at the moment to concern himself with the Doctor's emotional tirade.   
  
"Control yourself, Doctor," he said absently, continuing to gaze at the viewscreen before him.   
But McCoy had no intention of controlling himself. He slammed the palm of his hand on the arm of the command chair in frustration.   
  
"Listen, you..." McCoy sputtered, then made a visible effort to control his rage. He inhaled deeply before continuing. "This could be more of a problem than you realize, Spock," he said, more quietly now but with anger still seething in his voice. "I don't know if you're aware of it or not, but the Captain wasn't exactly up to physical par when he left this ship."   
  
Spock was already aware of that fact. The Captain's noticeable fatigue of late had taken a toll on his efficiency, and the Vulcan knew it. It was his job to know it. He turned his steady gaze on McCoy.   
  
"I am well aware of that, Doctor."   
  
"And now he's in the hands of the Klingons."   
  
"I am aware of that, as well."   
  
The Doctor's face was red. "Then why are you just sitting here?"   
  
Spock was nearly on the verge of ordering McCoy off the bridge, but he decided against it. Despite his emotional display, McCoy was a close friend to Kirk. His presence was merely an expression of his loyalty to the Captain. And although Spock did not condone the emotional exhibition, he did understand that loyalty.   
  
"We are following the only logical course of action at present, Doctor," Spock said firmly. "I ask that you accept that for now."   
  
Without another word, Spock leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and began to formulate an hypothesis.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Admiral Fitzpatrick stared at the blank viewscreen before him for several minutes after ending his communication with the Enterprise. The Klingons had already set their plan into motion, a plan which was not supposed to be carried out for at least a month. Federation Intelligence sources had been wrong. And the Admiral was going to have each of their heads on a platter.   
  
A Starfleet captain was now in the hands of a ruthless enemy. And not just any captain...they had James T. Kirk. The Admiral knew that, if anyone could come through such an ordeal unscathed, it would be Kirk. But he also knew that if Starfleet were to lose this particular officer, it would have a more profound impact on the Federation than any other loss in its collective memory.   
  
At least he had gotten the opportunity to forewarn the Captain of the Klingons' plan. But had he told him enough? Had he made a monumental error in judgement by not telling Kirk the rest of the story?   
  
Fitzpatrick's hand moved to the communication control at the corner of his desk. He hesitated only a moment before activating it.   
  
"Angie," he said solemnly. "Get me the President. Priority One."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Kirk's arms were nearly numb, a welcome relief from the cold throbbing he had experienced when he began to lose circulation in them. Klingon had apparently never heard of the articles of interstellar law which provided for the comfort and humane treatment of prisoners of war. Then again, the Klingons and the Federation were not officially at war. Not yet.   
  
He could not be sure how much time had elapsed since they were shackled to the overhead beam, but it seemed like an eternity. He had spoken very little with his crewmates since their arrival. Kirk thought it was best, snce he assumed they were being monitored. He shifted on his feet, trying to find a more comfortable position. His efforts proved fruitless.   
  
His emotional paralysis had finally worn off and was quickly replaced by a vast array of emotions, each one as intense as the others. He was outraged at the unmitigated gall of the Klingons to abduct a Starship Captain and members of his crew, and he will still confused by their motives. He was angered and deeply saddened by the senseless death of Lieutenant Foster. He was also immensely curious about their captors and wondered exactly who was behind their abduction. And he was afraid, not only for himself but for the lives of his fellow captives, as well. He feared for the Enterprise and every last person aboard her. He even feared for the Federation itself.   
  
Out of this jumble of emotions, fear was the one he dared not show. The people beside him were counting on him to lead them out of here alive. And he refused to give the Klingons the satisfaction.   
  
Kirk heard a sound at the door and turned his head to see it slide open to admit the three Klingons who had brought them here. They were as stoic and closed-mouthed as ever as they moved to stand rigidly several feet before him.   
  
"It's about time!" Kirk said angrily, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. "Will someone have the decency to tell me what is going on?"   
  
The sudden voice from the doorway sent a chill up the length of his spine.   
  
"Decency is a human trait, Captain. I'm afraid you won't find it here."   
  
It was a deliberate, menacing voice. It was also strikingly familiar. Kirk turned his head slowly to stare at the figure in the open doorway.   
  
"Kor!" he whispered.   
  
"Very good, Captain," the Commander exclaimed as he entered the room. His tone was patronizing. He moved to stand directly in front of Kirk, just inches away from his captive.   
  
The move, Kirk knew, was intended to make him uneasy, but he continued to gaze steadily into the Klingon's eyes.   
  
"I seem to have left quite an impression on you during our last encounter," Kor said.   
  
At least one mystery was solved. His abductor was someone he knew. But Kirk was not at all certain that the knowledge would work to his advantage. He decided to play it Kor's way for now.   
  
"I don't know that I would call it an impression, Kor," he said easily. "It was more like a bad taste in my mouth."   
  
The Klingon glared at him a moment, then threw his head back in a delighted laugh. "You amuse me, Captain," he said, backing away only slightly. "We are going to have such a good time together, you and I."   
  
"I'm afraid I don't have time for your little games, Kor," Kirk replied, his tone still smooth and easy. "You've broken so many articles of interstellar law, not to mention the Organian Peace Treaty, I'll be spending the next two days just filling out the reports."   
  
Kor, who had been inspecting the other two captives, suddenly turned his surprised gaze back to Kirk.   
  
"The Organian Peace Treaty is a joke, Captain," he said. "Surely even you realize that by now."   
  
And there it was. At least the intelligence reports had been correct on that point.   
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."   
  
"Oh, I think you do." The Klingon grinned. "Have you ever heard of any incident, even the slightest little skirmish, where the treaty has actually been enforced?"   
  
Kirk privately agreed that he hadn't, but he said nothing.   
  
"And even if it were, there are so many ways to get around it." Kor's grin widened, an expression that brought the chill back in full force. "No, Captain. I would not rely on the Organians to save your neck this time."   
  
Kirk was uncomfortable and growing tired of the banter. "What are you after, Kor?"   
  
The Klingon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his predicament. He gazed at Kirk steadily through small, narrow eyes.   
  
"Two things, Captain, the first of which was you. I must admit, that one was embarrassingly easy."   
  
Candy from a baby.   
  
"And the second?"   
  
"You disappoint me, Sir." Kor shook his head in mock dismay. "I remembered you as being quite clever."   
  
Kirk's face hardened. "You'll never take my ship."   
  
The oily grin returned to the Klingon's face. "I won't have to take her, Kirk. Your crew will deliver her to me."   
  
"I'll see you in hell first."   
  
The Commander chuckled. "After what I have in store for you, your hell would seem like a holiday."   
  
Kirk's stomach muscles tightened as he stared into the Klingon's gloating face. Deep down, he knew that Spock would never allow the Enterprise to fall into enemy hands, but Kor's confidence was strong enough to produce a nagging shred of doubt.   
  
Kirk finally looked away from the Commander's face to glance at his crew beside him. They were staring at him with expressions of barely masked fear, but there was still a faint glimmer of hope in their eyes. It was enough to keep him talking.   
  
"Kor," he said finally. "I'll make a deal with you."   
  
"You have nothing to bargain with, Captain."   
  
"I'm offering an exchange," Kirk continued undaunted. "My life for theirs." He tilted his head toward his landing party to clarify the offer.   
  
His effort seemed to amuse the Klingon greatly. He chuckled in delight.   
  
"Your life is already mine, Kirk. You'll have to do better than that."   
  
"Your quarrel is with me, Kor, not them!" Kirk snapped, then realized in frustration that he was pleading for mercy from a being who possessed no such quality.   
  
"Kor," he said, more calmly now. "If you're so certain you have everything you want, you can afford to be magnanimous."   
  
The Commander was standing just within reach. If he could just summon enough strength in his arms to pull himself up, he could lash out with his legs...   
  
"I consider these two a bonus, Captain," Kor said. "And I do not choose to be magnanimous."   
  
He turned for the doorway. It was now or never. Even with the manacles slicing into his wrists, Kirk managed to raise himself just enough to swing his lower body toward the Klingon. His aim was dead on target, and his feet landed squarely in the middle of Kor's back. The blow sent him crashing into his sentries.   
  
The Klingon roared in a fit of rage and seized a metal club from the sheath of the guard closest to him. He swung it with considerable force, and Kirk braced himself for the impact. It did not help, however, and he felt his ribs give way under the sheer force of the blow. He cried out in pain that shot through every nerve ending in his body, and he would have doubled over if not for the shackles.   
  
Kor began to chuckle again. It was an eerie, maniacal sound. He grabbed Kirk's hair in his fist and forced his head back to look at him.   
  
"That was stupid, Captain," he said. "So tediously human."   
  
He released Kirk roughly and handed the club back to his centurion. "Blindfold them," he ordered.   
  
The guards moved forward, but Kirk ignored them. He continued to glare at the Klingon, his eyes filled with hatred, until his vision went black.   
  
He heard the footsteps, then the voice from the doorway. "Until we meet again, Captain."   
  
And then they were gone.   
  



	5. Chapter 4

DEGUELLO - Chapter 4  
by Trish Bennett   
  
  
McCoy had been pacing the bridge between the turbolift and Uhura's station for nearly two hours, grumbling to himself and anyone else who would listen. Spock had not moved a muscle, and McCoy had to look at him several times to make sure he was even still breathing.   
  
The Vulcan finally stirred from his self-induced trance.   
  
"Time until we enter the Neutral Zone, Mr. Sulu?"   
  
The Helmsman nearly jumped at the sound of his voice, but quickly checked the chronometer.   
  
"Just over four minutes, Mr. Spock," he replied.   
  
"Full stop, Helmsman. Hold position."   
  
Sulu glanced quickly into the faces of his fellow crewmen before reluctantly replying, "Full stop. Aye, Sir."   
  
"Status of the Klingon vessel, Mr. Chekov?"   
  
The young Ensign had not moved from his position at the scanners.   
  
"No change in course or speed, Mr. Spock. They should enter the Neutral Zone in approximately three minutes."   
  
McCoy had stopped pacing and now leaned over the rail, gripping it tightly in his hands.   
  
"What are we doing, Spock?" he demanded.   
  
"We are waiting, Doctor," the Vulcan replied smoothly. He was so damned smug!   
  
"Waiting for what?" The Doctor moved down the step to again take his position beside the First Officer in the command chair.   
  
"For the Klingons to make their move," Spock maintained patiently.   
  
The Doctor's patience, however, was gone. "What makes you think kidnapping the Captain and then high-tailing it into the Neutral Zone wasn't their move?"   
  
"Doctor," the First Officer replied. "We have never been able to detect, even to the slightest degree, a cloaked Klingon vessel. Does it not seem odd to you that suddenly we can?"   
  
The entire bridge crew turned to face him, but Sulu was the first to speak.   
  
"You think they're using the Captain to lure the Enterprise?"   
  
Spock nodded. "If their sole intent was to abduct the Captain, we should not have been able to track their movements in order to pursue them. And if they simply intended to destroy the Enterprise, they could have done so quite easily when they decloaked at Margala 3. The only logical conclusion is that they intend to take the Enterprise intact."   
  
"But why?" Uhura toned in.   
  
"What difference does it make?" McCoy cried in frustration. "You can't just sit here and do nothing!"   
  
Spock finally turned his solemn gaze to the Doctor.   
  
"What would you have me do, Doctor? Enter the Neutral Zone in direct violation of Starfleet order and interstellar law? Perhaps I should open fire on the Klingon vessel with the Captain and his party still aboard?"   
  
McCoy continued to glare at him, but his expression was slightly less hateful.   
  
"We shall wait for the Klingons to make their move," the Vulcan repeated. "And from what we know of the Klingons, it should not be a very long wait."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Kor was staring intently at the viewscreen when his officer approached.   
  
"Commander," Ketahl announced. "We have entered the Neutral Zone."   
  
"And the Enterprise?"   
  
"It is holding position one-hundred-thousand kilometers outside the zone." The officer hesitated briefly. "They are not following us, Commander."   
  
The Klingon carefully stroked his long mustache. "Perhaps they need additional persuasion. See to it."   
  
The officer clicked his heels. "At once, Commander."   
  
As Ketahl dutifully left the bridge, Kor turned his attention to his Lieutenant.   
  
"Open a channel to the Earth ship."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Kirk began to understand the purpose of the blindfold. It served to increase his feeling of helplessness.   
  
He could no longer feel his hands, and because of the broken ribs, every breath he took was a new experience in pain. He was tired, and his throat was dry from trying to breathe through his mouth. But none of these sensations were as uncomfortable for him as the thought of his crew beside him, being forced into an ordeal they could not possibly understand simply because they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.   
  
Kirk had personally selected these people to join him on this mission. He hoped it did not turn out that he had personally selected them to die.   
  
A sound at the door brought him out of his reverie, and his body tensed in anticipation. He heard the hiss of the door, then the footsteps clanking across the metal deck. If only he could see.   
  
A Klingon voice finally cut through the darkness. "You will have the honor of looking death in the face," it announced proudly.   
  
James Kirk tipped his chin in defiance. He was about to come face to face with his own mortality, and yet something inside him would not allow him to admit that it was true. It was a nightmare, yes. A grim situation, definitely. But for some reason, he could not permit himself to believe that he would meet his end in the belly of a Klingon battle cruiser.   
  
He fully expected to be blinded by light when his blindfold was removed, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut in preparation. What he did not expect, however, was the voice of his young Ensign, pleading for help by uttering nothing more than his name.   
  
"Captain...?"   
  
The realization suddenly hit him with a force more powerful than the one that had fractured his ribs. Kirk began to struggle, the movement sending waves of pain through his chest, but he was able to summon enough breath in his lungs to cry out, "No!" His voice was nearly a roar, and its echo reverberated throughout the chamber.   
  
Even through his anguish, the Captain heard the blade of the knife scrape against its sheath, and the whisk when it made contact with its target. He heard Graham's gasp, then a gargled, choking sound, and finally the raspy wheeze of air escaping the Ensign's lungs. And Kirk knew with certainty that he was dead.   
  
"You son of a bitch!" the Captain bellowed, wrenching against the shackles. He barely felt the cold steel digging into his wrists, but he did feel the fist that suddenly crashed into his injured ribs. He thought for a moment it was going through his side.   
  
"He died with honor, Kirk," the Klingon said finally. "Pray that you will do the same."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
There had been no announcement when the signal came through from the Klingon cruiser...no introduction...not so much as a threat. There was simply the disturbing picture of their Captain and two members of his landing party, cuffed and blindfolded in their captor's lair. And after witnessing the brutal murder of Ensign Graham, it took no great leap of deduction to conclude what had happened to the third. The Captain's cry of helpless agony was still ringing in their ears when the screen went dark.   
  
McCoy stood with the rest of the crew in stunned silence before moving to place a comforting hand on Uhura's shoulder. A stream of silent tears ran down her dark cheeks.   
  
"Is that the move you were waiting for, Spock?" he asked quietly.   
  
The Vulcan ignored him. "Status of the Klingon vessel, Mr. Chekov?"   
  
The Ensign did his best to control his quivering voice. "The Klingons have entered the Neutral Zone, Mr. Spock. They have decloaked and reduced speed, but their shields are now in place."   
  
"Present heading?"   
  
Chekov studied the scanners intently. "A small star system just within sensor range."   
  
The First Officer rose from his seat. "Lieutenant Uhura, inform me the moment Admiral Fitzpatrick signals. I shall be in the Briefing Room. Mr. Chekov, I want a complete analysis of that star system. Mr. Sulu, the bridge is yours. You will hold position until I return."   
  
He had already started through the turbolift doors when he paused briefly to add, "Doctor McCoy, will you accompany me?" It was not a request.   
  
McCoy did not attempt to hide his surprise but gladly followed the Vulcan into the turbolift. It was only a matter of seconds before the lift decanted them near the Briefing Room, and for that McCoy was grateful. Spock was unnervingly cool and silent, even for Spock, and the long, forceful strides he took toward the private haven of the Briefing Room made McCoy nearly break into a trot just to keep up with him.   
  
Once inside, the First Officer moved to seat himself at the head of the table, resting his elbows on the edge and placing his fingertips together in his familiar, thoughtful pose. McCoy had seen him do it a hundred times, but something about it now made him enormously uneasy.   
  
As much as he wanted to scream, or cry, or kick something, McCoy struggled fiercely to remain calm.   
  
"As flattered as I am by the invitation, Spock," he said as lightly as he could manage, "I'll admit that I'm just a little confused."   
  
Spock waited for what seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke.   
  
"I believe you will agree, Doctor, that the Enterprise is in a state of emergency."   
  
McCoy stared at him, dumbfounded. Suddenly he had to resist the wild impulse to laugh.   
  
"Uh...yeah, I think I would agree with that."   
  
The Vulcan ignored the sarcasm. "I require your assistance, Doctor. Your guidance, if you will." He finally raised his eyes to meet McCoy's stunned gaze. "I do not pretend to understand human emotionalism, Doctor, but I cannot deny that it exists in abundance aboard this ship."   
  
"Especially where the Captain is concerned," McCoy added.   
  
"Agreed," the Vulcan responded with a nod. "And unfortunately, as temporary commander of this ship, I am in the position of having to deal with it."   
  
McCoy remained silent. There's a point in there somewhere, he thought.   
  
"I have found, in my close association with the humans aboard this vessel, that an emotionally stable crew is also an efficient one. Under the present circumstances, efficiency is the one thing we cannot afford to lose."   
  
"What are you saying?" McCoy said, kneading his forehead with his fingertips. "You're making me Morale Officer?"   
  
"Call it what you will. The Captain had an uncanny ability to inspire optimism among this crew. I confess that I do not share that ability. Therefore, I have decided to delegate that responsibility to someone who can."   
  
McCoy felt a sudden rush of blood to his face. He quickly dropped himself into a chair, somewhat overemphasizing his bewilderment.   
  
"Was that a compliment?"   
  
"If you choose to interpret it as such."   
  
"Well, stop it!" the Doctor snapped half-heartedly. "You're throwing me off."   
  
The Vulcan's brow furrowed slightly. "I beg your pardon?"   
  
McCoy heaved a sigh. "This is where I'm supposed to be ranting and raving at you, and you're supposed to be shaking your head and insulting me."   
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. "I believe that is precisely what I am trying to avoid, Doctor."   
  
"Well, dammit, I like it that way. I'm comfortable with it." It had been a perfectly good arrangement up to now. But as he looked into the Vulcan's face, he felt a twinge of regret. Why was he so uncomfortable about having a sincere conversation with someone he had always considered a friend?   
  
"You know," McCoy continued after a moment. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were actually showing...well, compassion."   
  
"Don't be insulting, Doctor," Spock replied distastefully. "I am merely following the Captain's own orders."   
  
McCoy sat upright in his chair. "What are you talking about?"   
  
Spock's next words were an echo from the past, and McCoy was amazed at the precision of the impersonation.   
  
"...temper your judgement with intuitive insight. I believe you have that quality. But if you can't find it in yourself, seek out McCoy..."   
  
The Doctor could almost hear the Captain's voice from his final taped message. The one Kirk had left for them in the event of his death. The one they had viewed together in the midst of another crisis, when they thought the Captain was hopelessly lost in Tholian space.   
  
And McCoy was suddenly reminded of the conclusion of the Captain's speech. You will find that Spock is deserving of the same loyalty and confidence that each of you have given me...   
  
McCoy sobered and looked intently into the Vulcan's face.   
  
"I'll do my best, Spock."   
  
"I believe, Doctor, that is all any of us can do."   
  



	6. Chapter 5

DEGUELLO - Chapter 5  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Admiral Fitzpatrick was not looking forward to his next transmission to the Enterprise. Primarily because he had nothing encouraging to say.   
  
The Federation Council was at its usual cautious best. He had tried to explain the gravity of the situation, and he believed he had done an adequate job of it. But they had tied his hands, for all intents and purposes, in a situation where he believed timing would be crucial. And the Admiral was frustrated to the verge of rage.   
  
The abduction of Starfleet personnel under ordinary circumstances posed a grave threat to Federation security. But a Starship Captain, with the information that he possessed...the results could be absolutely devastating.   
  
A man of that position was a special breed, trained and conditioned to withstand enemy interrogation to a certain degree. But the Klingons were a ruthless people, brutal beyond human endurance. And with reports of a mind sifter circulating through the cosmos, it did not take a very active imagination to consider the possibilities.   
  
He could see the enormous danger facing the Federation. He could also see the enormous danger facing James Kirk, whom he considered a personal friend. Could he survive a savage Klingon interrogation? Would he be better off if he didn't?   
  
A few short days ago, he had shared a bottle of Saurian Brandy with Kirk, assuring him that Starfleet was on top of the situation. But in that brief amount of time, something had gone dreadfully wrong, and there was nothing left to do but see the problem through to its conclusion...whatever that conclusion may be.   
  
There were many things he had told the Captain that night, and many things he didn't. But he did make a promise to Kirk, one that he had every intention of keeping. He had to keep the Enterprise out of harm's way.   
  
It would certainly not be an easy task under the present circumstances, but he had to try. It might well be the last thing he could ever do for a friend.   
  
Fitzpatrick sighed heavily as he reached for the communication switch on his desk.   
  
"All right, Angie," he said wearily. "I'm ready for the Enterprise."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The signal from Starfleet came through just as McCoy was preparing to leave the Briefing Room. Spock allowed him to remain on the condition that he remain silent. Although the Doctor agreed, both of them privately doubted it was a promise he would be able to keep.   
  
When the Admiral's image filled the small viewscreen, his face appeared frustrated and concerned. He seemed to have aged several years in the few brief hours since his last transmission, and the circles under his eyes betrayed his weariness.   
  
His voice, however, had not lost its authoritative resonance.   
  
"Commander Spock. Status report."   
  
"The Klingons have entered the Neutral Zone, Admiral," Spock replied crisply. "Their present heading is a small star system just within our sensor range. I have ordered an analysis of the system. The Enterprise is holding position inside Federation space."   
  
"Have you established contact with the Klingon vessel?"   
  
The Vulcan's voice was solemn. "We were...permitted to witness the murder of one member of our landing party.   
  
Another was conspicuously unaccounted for. We assume that he has also been killed. That has been our only communication with the vessel."   
  
Fitzpatrick's eyes closed briefly. "Kirk is still alive, then?"   
  
"Affirmative...although he appeared to be injured."   
  
The Admiral sighed deeply. "Commander Spock, we have been in contact with the Klingon High Council. They deny any knowledge of these events but refuse to render their assistance with the renegade vessel. They say they would consider any violation of the Neutral Zone to be an act of war."   
  
The Vulcan gazed steadily at the image on the viewscreen before him.   
  
"With all due respect, Admiral, what did you expect them to say?" There was no malice in his tone, no hint of sarcasm. It was merely a question sparked by genuine curiosity.   
  
Fitzpatrick glared at him firmly.   
  
"Mr. Spock, Starfleet cannot afford to lose a man like Jim Kirk, nor can we allow terrorist activity against any Federation personnel to go unchallenged. But we can afford to lose the Enterprise even less. The entire fleet has been placed on alert. I have ordered the Yorktown and Excalibur to rendezvous with you and await instructions."   
  
McCoy's face brightened and he clasped his hands together in a silent prayer of thanks. Spock merely raised an eyebrow.   
  
"When do you anticipate their arrival?"   
  
Fitzpatrick's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but his voice remained crisp. "At maximum warp, approximately three days."   
  
The Doctor's face fell.   
  
"Three days!" he exclaimed, finally stepping into the Admiral's view. His outburst drew a stern gaze from Spock, but he ignored it and faced the screen. "We can't just leave them out there for three days! We have to do something!"   
  
The Admiral appeared only momentarily surprised by the Doctor's presence, but he made no mention of it.   
  
"Doctor McCoy," he said gently, reassuringly. "Please believe me when I say that I know how you feel. I consider Jim Kirk to be a very good friend. But you must understand the Federation's position..."   
  
"I don't care about the Federation's position!" he snapped, only vaguely aware of the frantic tone of his voice. "I just watched your friend, chained like an animal, being beaten by those..." He cut himself off and spun to face the Vulcan, pounding his fist on the table in frustration. "Spock, you saw what they did to Ensign Graham! For God's sake, man, tell him!"   
  
Spock's voice was as firm as his gaze. "Please control yourself, Doctor."   
  
It was a quiet, simple statement but enough to penetrate the Doctor's blind fury. He glared at Spock briefly, then straightened from the table, smoothed his shirt, and locked his hands behind his back. He was clearly fuming.   
  
"My apologies, Admiral," Spock said at last. "I must admit, however, that I do not believe Captain Kirk has three days. I believe he will be dead in considerably less time."   
  
The Admiral seemed affected by his words, but his position remained unchanged.   
  
"You have your orders, Commander. If the Klingon vessel should attempt to re-enter Federation space, do whatever you must to secure the safety of the Captain and the Federation. But under no circumstances are you to take the Enterprise into the Neutral Zone." He squared his shoulders decisively. "The Klingons say they would consider it an act of war. I personally would consider it an act of mutiny. Do I make myself clear, Commander?"   
  
"Perfectly clear, Admiral," Spock replied without hesitation.   
  
"Very well." Fitzpatrick's tone softened slightly. "Notify me if there is any change. Otherwise, I will contact you before the scheduled rendezvous. Starfleet out."   
  
The viewscreen went dark. McCoy realized only after a moment that his mouth was open.   
  
"Mutiny? Is he serious?"   
  
"I believe he is quite serious, Doctor," Spock replied, rising from his chair for the first time since their arrival. "I must return to the bridge. I assume you wish to accompany me."   
  
He started past McCoy, but stopped when the Doctor laid a hand on his arm.   
  
"We can't just leave them out there, Spock."   
  
"I know, Doctor," the Vulcan replied. "But at the moment, I am at a loss for alternatives."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Kirk could not decide which was worse -- the total lack of feeling in his arms and hands from the loss of circulation or the sharp, burning tingle of its return. He had felt an enormous sense of relief upon being released from the overhead beam, but the relief was short-lived. His shoulders were painfully stiff, and he was still shackled and blindfolded. He had very little hope of escaping his captors at the moment.   
  
He would have to be patient. An opportunity would surely present itself. Kirk could only hope that he would be able to take advantage of it.   
  
The Klingon guards were as silent as ever as they led the humans through the corridor of the battle cruiser. The disrupter planted firmly in the Captain's spine, however, made their intentions uncomfortably clear.   
  
He felt Lieutenant Girard in close procession beside him and suddenly wished he could see her. She must be terrified, he thought. On her first surface mission with the Enterprise, she had already witnessed the brutal murders of two of her colleagues. And he could only imagine what their Klingon captors had in store for them.   
  
"Are you all right?" Kirk asked, hoping the authority he forced into his voice would help to console her.   
  
"I think so," she replied.   
  
Her voice was surprisingly calm, and Kirk felt a sudden rush of pride. After what had already happened and facing an uncertain future, she was holding up remarkably well. A fine addition to the crew of the Enterprise.   
  
He heard a door slide open, and with a few more strides they were forced up a step onto a platform. A transporter platform?   
  
"Wait a minute," Kirk demanded, drawing his arms up instinctively to cradle his tender ribs. "What's going on here? I demand to know..."   
  
A short, sharp Klingon command interrupted him, and Kirk's voice was lost in the hum of the transporter. A moment later, he found himself standing on a rough, craggy surface. The arid stench of the Klingon vessel ws quickly replaced by a damp, musty odor. There was a definite chill in the air, but not even the hint of a breeze.   
  
The Klingons wasted no time moving them out, and it was a long, arduous hike. The surface was damp and slick, which made it nearly impossible to get a sure footing. It was difficult to maintain his balance with his hands bound together, and every twist and turn of Kirk's body sent stabbing pain pummeling through his chest.   
  
The Captain got the distinct impression they were in some sort of cavern, and from the angle of their descent, they seemed to be heading deep below the planet's surface. He made a concerted effort to concentrate on directions...the number of steps they took before turning left or right...anything that may help them find their way back out of this maze tunneled in stone.   
  
He had no way of knowing how much time had elapsed since their abduction or how far from Margala 3 they had been taken. And what of the Enterprise? Spock would certainly be in pursuit. But if the Klingon ship had cloaked...and he could only assume that it had...there would be nothing for him to pursue...   
  
Kirk shook his head quickly, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts. The first order of business, as always, was survival. The second would have to be escape. He could not just sit still and blindly hope for the cavalry to come riding over the hill. As much as he would like to, he had to proceed with the assumption that from this point on, he and Lieutenant Girard were on their own.   
  
By the time they reached their destination, it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to breathe. He took quick, shallow breaths trying to keep the pain at a tolerable level.   
  
One of the Klingons seized the manacles at his wrists and again fastened them securely above his head. Kirk gasped at the sudden movement and struggled fiercely to catch his breath. But even through the fog in his head, he heard a heavy thud, then the unmistakeable crackle and hum of a force field being activated. After a moment, the heavy footsteps diminishing into the distance convinced him that they were alone.   
  
"I was just starting to feel my fingers again," came a voice from beside him.   
  
The remark brought a grim smile to the Captain's lips. "Mine, too." His voice sounded raspy and dry, even to his own ears.   
  
"Captain...what's going to happen to us?"   
  
Kirk breathed as deeply as his injured ribs would allow.   
  
"I only wish I knew, Lieutenant."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The grim faces of Spock and McCoy did little to improve the mood of the bridge crew.   
  
"Status of the Klingon vessel, Mr. Chekov," Spock said crisply as he moved to assume the command chair from Sulu.   
  
"We lost them for a few seconds when they entered the star system, Mr. Spock," the Ensign replied without looking up. "But we relocated them quickly. Now they're just...sitting there."   
  
"Analysis of the star system?"   
  
Chekov straightened from the scanners now and turned to face him.   
  
"There are seven planets in all, Sir. Two of those are Class M, but both appear to be uninhabited."   
  
All eyes turned to Spock as he gazed intently into the viewscreen, but the Vulcan was unaffected by the questioning stares. There was an unbearably long silence before Sulu finally spoke.   
  
"What are we going to do, Mr. Spock?"   
  
"The Yorktown and the Excalibur are scheduled to rendezvous with us in approximately seventy-two hours," he responded, silently noting the entrance of Chief Engineer Scott to the bridge. "Until then, we are to hold position and await further instructions."   
  
The statement evoked a startled response from the normally complacent Scotsman.   
  
"But Mr. Spock!" he exclaimed, moving to stand with McCoy at the rail of the upper deck. "One Klingon cruiser is certainly no match for the Enterprise. We could..."   
  
"One Klingon cruiser that we are aware of, Mr. Scott," Spock said. "I appreciate your optimism, Engineer, but we have no way of knowing if there are other cloaked vessels out there, just waiting for the Enterprise to violate treaty."   
  
"But what of Captain Kirk?" The Engineer's face was nearly as red as his uniform.   
  
Spock gazed at him briefly, then once again locked his eyes on the viewscreen.   
  
"I believe the Captain will understand the delay." His voice was firm, but he was clearly not pleased with the decision.   
  
"Understand it, maybe," the Doctor toned in, unable to suppress his anxiety any longer. "But will he be able to survive it?"   
  



	7. Chapter 6

DEGUELLO - Chapter 6  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Throughout his illustrious career, James T. Kirk had received a variety of medals and citations: The Palm Leaf of Axanar Peace Mission; The Medal of Honor, Silver Palm with Cluster; the Galactic Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry; the Heragite Order of Heroism...   
  
He had earned these commendations and many more because of his fierce devotion to Starfleet and to the United Federation of Planets which it serves. He cherished each one of them from the very depths of his soul.   
  
Right now, though, he would trade them all for a drink of water. His throat was painfully dry. He was cold, and tired, and decidedly uncomfortable. And he was angry, growing angrier by the minute.   
  
He had barely spoken to Lieutenant Girard in their captivity, since he could only assume they were still being monitored. But he was tired of being silent, and furious for being held blind and immobile for so long. It was time for some answers.   
  
"All right, Kor!" he called loudly, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. "I know you're here somewhere. It's time for an explanation."   
  
He waited briefly but was answered with silence. He decided to try again.   
  
"What's the matter, Kor?" Kirk taunted. "A force field and shackles aren't enough to make you feel secure?"   
  
The persistent hum was suddenly silenced, and Kirk could feel his heart pounding in his chest.   
  
The voice that responded was laced with morbid delight. "It would seem your ego, Kirk, is surpassed only by your impudence."   
  
Kirk did his best to control the rage inside him. "I suppose it would take a Klingon to recognize those qualities."   
  
"Recognize and appreciate them, Captain," Kor responded, slowly moving toward his hostage. "We are not so different as you would like to believe."   
  
"You've told me that before," Kirk said. Kor would obviously not come to the point until he was good and ready, and there was nothing for him to do but play along for now. "I still fail to see the similarity."   
  
"You humans are violent savages by nature," Kor explained. "As are we Klingons. The only difference is that you are also hypocritical creatures. We Klingons accept our brutal nature, for it is what makes us strong. You, on the other hand, make a great show of your lofty virtues. You brazenly display them like medals on your chest for others to see and admire." His voice fairly seethed wth contempt.   
  
Kirk felt a hand at the back of his head, and before he could brace himself, the blindfold snapped and fell from his eyes. He cringed against the blinding light, but after a moment he could see the Klingon clearly standing before him.   
  
"Noblesse oblige," Kirk muttered, feeling oddly like the Scarlet Pimpernel.   
  
"I am not familiar with that expression," said the gloating Klingon. "Though I am certain that it was revoltingly honorable."   
  
Kirk tensed as he watched the Commander release Girard's blindfold. His hand lingered a moment, tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips. The Lieutenant did not flinch, and Kor seemed to lose interest. He turned his attention back to Kirk."   
  
"In fact," he continued, "I have done quite a bit of research on your race. I must admit, I found it a fascinating study."   
  
"What a shame you haven't learned anything from it."   
  
"Oh, but I have, Captain," Kor replied. "So much so, in fact, that I have developed a new respect for your species."   
  
Another chill racked Kirk's spine, an eerie contrast to the heat of his anger. Somehow he knew that Kor's newfound respect was not based upon the finest of human qualities.   
  
"Your species possesses a deep-rooted barbarism which I found most refreshing. Far better than this arrogant charade you have devoted yourselves to, spreading your organized hypocrisy through the universe like a plague."   
  
Kirk was really not in the mood for this lecture. "I don't know what you've been studying, Kor, but..."   
  
"Your Roman Empire was fascinating, Captain!" the Klingon interjected with glee. "Your Spanish Inquisition...your French Revolution...and Adolph Hitler!...why, it was absolutely delightful, Kirk! It seems it has only been in the past century or so that you declined into this wretched state of morality."   
  
Kirk's eyes suddenly fixed upon the club that Kor was clutching in his hand, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. The Klingon apparently took note of the discovery, for he raised the weapon and began to smack it lightly against the palm of his other hand.   
  
The Captain looked back into the Klingon's face. "Thank you for the trip through Earth's history, Kor, but what has any of this got to do with me or my ship?"   
  
Kor stared at him smugly, silently, his rhythm with the club never missing a beat.   
  
"What do you want, Kor?" Kirk snapped angrily.   
  
A thin smile lit the Klingon's face. "I want your ship, to present as a gift to the Empire. As for the mighty James T. Kirk..." His smile broadened as he stepped forward to emphasize his point. "I want nothing more than to watch you die, Captain."   
  
Kirk tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach and the interminable rap of the club in Kor's hand.   
  
"Why don't you kill me, then, and be done with it?"   
  
"I am disappointed in you, Kirk," Kor said. "Do you really believe I would dispatch this unique opportunity so easily as to merely run a dagger through your heart?" He chuckled. "No, Captain. And isn't it ironic that your own precious history will provide the foundation for your death?"   
  
"What do you mean?" he said, although once the words were out of his mouth, he wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to know.   
  
"Nothing that happens here," Kor replied, "will be the product of Klingon imagination or design. You shall die at the hands of your ancestors, Captain. And you will know true pain."   
  
James Kirk was a student of history and knew full well the implications of Kor's words. The human race had emerged from its brutal, bloody past like a phoenix from the flames, yet he knew the cruelty his species had been capable of. And he began to wonder if he wouldn't prefer to die at the hands of Klingon brutality than of his own.   
  
Kor moved as slowly and deliberately as he spoke.   
  
"Do you realize, Captain, that you humans employed some of the most exquisite methods of physical and psychological torture in the universe?"   
  
The smack of the club against his palm was becoming intolerable.   
  
"Really most impressive," Kor continued. "For instance, I know that you are injured. I am sure that you are aware of it, too, but occasionally I may feel the need to...remind you of it."   
  
The rhythmic drumming stopped abruptly, and it took every ounce of control in Kirk's possession to keep his eyes trained on his captor's face.   
  
"Oh, nothing much," the Klingon taunted. "Just a nudge...like this."   
  
Kirk's teeth clenched tightly as the club came to rest ever so gently against his ribs. Still, he refused to look away.   
  
"Quite subtle," Kor said. "But immensely effective. Wouldn't you say, Captain?"   
  
Kirk would not give him the satisfaction of a reply, but he had to agree. It was immensely effective.   
  
Suddenly the club jammed harder into his ribs. It might just as well have been a dagger, for the pain pierced every nerve ending in his body in agonizing procession. Kirk groaned involuntarily, which seemed to please the Klingon greatly.   
  
"Wouldn't you say, Captain?" Kor repeated in the same malevolently calm tone.   
  
Kirk had to force his eyes back open. And with the club still pressing firmly into his ribs, it was an even greater effort to speak.   
  
"What have I done that you could hate me so much?"   
  
Kor cocked his head slightly, offering him a look of feigned bewilderment.   
  
"On the contrary, Captain," he said. "I have the utmost respect for you. You are a soldier, as am I, and a very good one. For a human, that makes you dangerous. And your name is revered throughout the galaxy. That makes you not so much an enemy as a prize...a trophy...which I intend to carry back to the Empire."   
  
Kirk struggled to find his voice. "You know this could spark a full-scale war."   
  
"Yes, Kirk," the Klingon replied, as if it was obvious from the start. "And your screams will be the Klingon battle cry."   
  
Kor drew back and brought the club in hard, crashing into Kirk's battered ribs. His legs buckled under him and he began to black out, but that was apparently not in the Klingon's game plan. Kirk was roused by several quick, stinging slaps to his face, and again he fought to raise his eyelids.   
  
"Lesson number two, Captain," Kor purred, holding Kirk's face between his hands. "Sleep is a human necessity. Therefore, it cannot be allowed."   
  
Kor finally released him, and Kirk's head dropped to his chest. He raised it just in time to see the Commander heading for the doorway.   
  
"You may damage him," he told the two enthusiastic centurions. He spoke in English, apparently for the benefit of his captives. "But I want him alive...for now."   
  
Kirk did not have a chance to speak to Lieutenant Girard before the guards closed in, but he did catch a glimpse of her. She was visibly trembling, and a stream of silent tears streaked her face.   
  
Her eyes met his for a brief moment before she clenched them tightly shut. Kirk privately hoped they would stay that way until this was over.   
  
Her eyes would be closed for quite some time.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
It seemed to McCoy that he had been shuffling the same two computer tapes for hours. He kept trying to console himself with the thought that help was on the way. It was turning out to be small consolation.   
  
He had nearly decided it was time to get some sleep when the door buzzer sounded. The Doctor rose wearily and headed to release the lock on his office door.   
  
"Spock," he said with mild surprise. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."   
  
"Am I disturbing you, Doctor?"   
  
McCoy turned and moved back to his desk. "No, Spock. I was just kind of restless, that's all. Thought I'd come down here and..." He had seated himself before finally looking back at the Vulcan, who was still standing in the open doorway. "Are you coming in, or are you just going to stand there all night?"   
  
Spock stepped forward just enough to allow the doors to slide closed behind him.   
  
McCoy studied him closely. "What's wrong?" he asked, not really sure he wanted to know.   
  
"I was also finding it difficult to rest, Doctor," he replied. His feet were still planted firmly just inside the door.   
  
McCoy rolled his eyes and waved him to a chair. "Will you please sit down? You're giving me the creeps."   
  
"I was attempting to ascertain," Spock began, moving toward the chair McCoy had offered, "if there was something we may have..."   
  
Suddenly he faltered in his stride. He grasped the back of the chair for support and raised his other hand to his temple.   
  
McCoy was halfway out of his chair. "What is it, Spock? Are you all right?"   
  
Spock closed his eyes for a moment. He then lowered his hand, straightened his shoulders, and moved to sink gracefully into his seat. His eyes finally met McCoy's.   
  
"What was that all about?" the Doctor demanded.   
  
Spock's voice was as calm as his manner. "We cannot afford to wait for assistance, Doctor."   
  
McCoy's chest tightened as he stared at Spock in silence. The other shoe was about to drop, he could feel it. He slowly lowered himself back into his own chair.   
  
"The Captain is in grave danger," Spock continued. "I have heard him."   
  
"I beg your pardon?"   
  
"I have...heard him."   
  
McCoy was stunned. Spock's face was completely expressionless, his tone simple and direct. It was as if he had just explained the theory of quantum physics rather than what had actually come out of his mouth.   
  
"Wait a minute...are you telling me you're in some sort of telepathic contact with Jim?"   
  
"So it would seem."   
  
"But how is that possible?"   
  
"I do not know."   
  
McCoy was not sure if he was just overly tired or if the Vulcan was being unusually mysterious. In any event, he was having a definite problem figuring this out.   
  
"Spock, you've got to help me here," he said, exasperated. "You said you heard him. Can you hear him all the time? Is he actually talking to you, or...?"   
  
"My apologies, Doctor," Spock said. "I do not wish to be difficult, but I am not certain that I understand it myself. I hear...his thoughts. They are brief, random flashes...but it is him. I am fairly certain that he is not even aware of the contact. The only plausible explanation I can find is that the Captain and I have mind-melded in the past. It is possible that, in a moment of intense need, his subconscious mind has somehow managed to reestablish the link."   
  
Spock exhaled, and McCoy could have sworn he heard the whisper of a quiver in the tone.   
  
"Regardless of the reason...I can sense his anguish, Doctor. He has been in great pain for nearly an hour now."   
  
McCoy covered his face with his hands. This was just too much. After a moment, he lowered his hands to look back at the Vulcan seated across from him.   
  
"I've been sitting here half the night trying to imagine what was happening out there. But, my God, Spock! You actually know! How can you stand that?"   
  
"I am a Vulcan, Doctor," came the standard reply. "I have..."   
  
"No, Spock..." McCoy shook his head. "Not this time."   
  
The last thing he wanted to do was sound overly sentimental to Spock. But this had been eating away at him, and he needed to talk to someone. Ordinarily at a time like this, he would have sought the company of the Captain. Right now, though, he would have to settle for the man across the desk.   
  
"Jim Kirk and I have been friends for a long time," he said. "We've been through a lot together. And I don't think there's anyone who is any closer to him than I am...except for you."   
  
"Doctor, I fail to see..."   
  
"Just hear me out," McCoy interrupted. "This is hard enough as it is. I don't know of two other people whose lives mean more to each other than they do to themselves. You can call it friendship, or loyalty...frankly, I don't know a word that could adequately describe it. But I know what you're feeling, Spock. You can deny it all you want."   
  
Spock was staring at him intently, and it was making him extremely uncomfortable. He pressed on anyway.   
  
"It's just that...well, right now I'm afraid I'll never see my best friend alive again. I'm just glad to know there's someone who cares as much about that as I do."   
  
McCoy expected Spock to spout some perfectly logical lie to dispel the emotional accusation, and he braced himself for it. Spock, however, remained silent, and McCoy got the uneasy feeling that he was looking right through him.   
  
"You know," he continued, "I always thought that Jim was one of the luckiest people I have ever known. I mean, he's been closer to death more often than I even care to remember...but it's like he has this guardian angel or something..." Spock had not moved a muscle. "This probably sounds pretty silly to you, doesn't it?"   
  
Spock did not reply, but he did finally look away from McCoy and fixed his gaze on the edge of the Doctor's desk.   
  
"Maybe I just got used to happy endings," he continued, finding it much easier to speak now that Spock's eyes were not boring through his skull. "No matter what happens or how bad things appear to be, I've always had this feeling of...well, confidence...that Jim would be coming home."   
  
It was becoming increasingly difficult to find the right words, and even more difficult to steady his voice.   
  
"But somehow it's different this time. I mean, what are the odds that one person can be so consistently lucky? Doesn't there have to come a time when his luck just has to run out?" McCoy exhaled shakily. "I'm scared, Spock. What if he doesn't come home?"   
  
McCoy finally sat back in his chair and waited. Spock would undoubtedly dismiss him as a sentimental idiot, and that would be that. At least he had the chance to say it out loud, an emotional catharsis he had desperately needed all day.   
  
"I shall find a way to get him back, Doctor," Spock said softly. Without another word, he rose to leave.   
  
It was not what McCoy had expected, and he had to swallow hard to find his voice.   
  
"Spock..."   
  
The Vulcan stopped in the open doorway but did not turn back. McCoy was suddenly at a loss for words.   
  
"Thank you," he said simply.   
  
Spock squared his shoulders and strode through the open doors.   
  
Doctor McCoy watched after him for what seemed like an eternity before he finally said aloud, "And may God have mercy on us all."   
  



	8. Chapter 7

DEGUELLO - Chapter 7  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Kor eventually returned to call off his guards. Martina Girard watched with utter contempt as he circled the battered Captain, inspecting their brutal work. Kirk appeared only vaguely aware of the Commander's presence.   
  
"Lesson Number Three, Captain," the Klingon said melodiously. "Dispense brief, intense punishment at periodic intervals. You must not allow your victim to become insensitive to the pain."   
  
He watched the Captain in silence a moment as Kirk sagged against the restraints that held him upright. After several failed attempts, Kirk was finally able to regain his footing, though it was an unsteady footing at best.   
  
When the Commander spoke again, he seemed enormously pleased with himself.   
  
"Still, you must forgive their exuberance," he taunted. "They have so few opportunities for recreation."   
  
Kirk did his best to steady himself. Try as he might, though, he could not mask the pain in his face, or his voice.   
  
"Everyone...needs a hobby," he said hoarsely. Suddenly his eyes closed against the pain, and he was unable to suppress a moan.   
  
"Tenacious to the last," Kor said with a nod of approval. He studied the Captain briefly before reaching up to release the shackles from the overhead niche. "You would have made an excellent Klingon, Captain. What a pity it is you persist in being so...human." He spat the last word distastefully.   
  
The manacles snapped abruptly, and Kirk hit the floor with a grunting wheeze. He landed face down on the damp cavern floor, his wrists still bound securely together, gasping desperately for air.   
  
Kor watched him writhe at his feet for several emotionless seconds before nudging Kirk's shoulder with the toe of his boot. The pressure rolled the Captain to his side, and he forced himself to look at his tormentor. His glare was filled with contempt.   
  
The Klingon gazed back at him with mock remorse. "What a pity, indeed."   
  
Without further comment, he stepped over Kirk and moved to the frightened Lieutenant. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to him as he released her restraints with his free hand. Girard quivered at his touch, but with Kirk as an example, she did not look away.   
  
"I would suggest," Kor said smoothly, "that you keep him awake. Otherwise my centurions will be forced to do so. Do you understand me?"   
  
She nodded quickly, hoping it would satisfy the Klingon. Apparently it did not. His dark face hardened.   
  
"Say it," he growled.   
  
"Yes...I understand you."   
  
"Good."   
  
He held her for several more agonizing seconds before finally releasing her and heading for the cavern entrance.   
  
Lieutenant Girard watched after him and was enormously relieved when the force field went back up between them. Only after he was gone did she realize she had been holding her breath.   
  
The Captain's wrists were still shackled together, but for some reason Kor had released her restraints. Girard rubbed her arms in an effort to restore the circulation in them and finally turned her attention to the Captain.   
  
He was lying on his side, his back to her, but she could tell he was still struggling to breathe. She knelt down beside him, almost afraid to touch him. She was not even sure that he was aware of her.   
  
Suddenly she heard his faint voice, and she had to lean closer to hear him.   
  
"Spock..." he said, almost in the tone of a whispered prayer. "Don't let him have my ship...don't let him..."   
  
His body suddenly tensed in a convulsion of pain, and his last words were more of a gutteral moan.   
  
Trying valiantly to control a threatening flow of tears, Girard placed a trembling hand on his shoulder.   
  
"...Captain?"   
  
He jumped slightly at her touch, but at least he seemed to be aware of her now. She was hesitant to move him, but she couldn't very well leave him like this, either. Girard slid her hand behind his neck, inhaled shakily, then gently rolled him to her, cradling his head just off the cavern floor.   
  
The Captain cringed at the movement but seemed grateful for the assistance. As she peered into the handsome face, now scarred and bruised from abuse, she finally relented and allowed her tears to stream freely down her cheeks. She tried to brush his hair away from his face, but a single, stubborn lock remained falling down over his forehead.   
  
Kirk's face was contorted in an effort to steady his breathing, and it was several minutes before he opened his eyes. When he was finally able to look at her, the Captain's expression transformed to one of concern. He raised his shackled hands to dry her tears.   
  
"What's wrong?" he whispered. "Are you hurt?"   
  
Girard wasn't sure whether to smile or sob. He was concerned about her? She decided to attempt a smile.   
  
"No, Sir. I'm fine."   
  
Kirk nodded with relief. "Good...good..." His eyes closed again, and when he finally looked back at her, there was a look of determination in the hazel eyes.   
  
"Give me a hand, will you?" he said, making an unsuccessful attempt to rise.   
  
"Captain, I..." she said warily, trying to keep him still. "I don't think that's such a good idea."   
  
Kirk seemed to be growing stronger now, his strangled whispers slowly returning to his normal, commanding tone. She could tell, though, that speech was still an effort for him.   
  
"I can do this with or without you, Lieutenant," he said. "Frankly, I'd appreciate the help."   
  
Tenacious to the last.   
  
She had never personally met the Captain until now. Her only prior knowledge of him before joining the Enterprise had been rumors through the galactic grapevine. She was beginning to realize, though, that truer words were probably never spoken.   
  
"All right," she conceded. "But let's take it easy, okay?"   
  
Girard eased him up to a sitting position, then gave him a moment to summon his strength. She looked into his pale face.   
  
"Still okay?"   
  
He nodded breathlessly, then closed his eyes in preparation. Girard slid her arm across his back and made certain she had a secure hold on him before she spoke again.   
  
"We're going to try to stand. Are you ready?"   
  
Another nod.   
  
"Okay...here we go."   
  
Kirk tried to help, but she practically had to drag him to his feet. She kept her hold on him until he had steadied himself and was able to stand nearly erect. Girard tentatively released him, paused briefly to make certain he was all right, and then stepped back to inspect him.   
  
The Captain was deathly pale, and though the cavern in which they were imprisoned was uncomfortably cold, he appeared to be sweating. His breathing was shallow but steady, and he finally opened his eyes to look at her.   
  
"Thanks," he said simply.   
  
"You're welcome," she replied in a voice so calm that it surprised even her. "Now what?"   
  
His voice was hushed now more for reasons of secrecy, she imagined, than physical necessity. Kirk's eyes surveyed their surroundings as he spoke.   
  
"Finding a way out of here should probably be..."   
  
But suddenly he stopped and fixed his gaze on something across the cavern floor. The Captain staggered slightly, and Girard moved quicky to steady him as he exhaled a mournful sigh.   
  
"Captain, what is it?"   
  
She turned her head to follow his gaze and immediately wished she hadn't. Girard turned quickly back to Kirk, but it was no use. The sight of Ensign Graham's corpse, his eyes open wide, was etched sickeningly in her mind.   
  
"Lesson Number Four..." Kirk muttered softly.   
  
Lieutenant Girard gazed into his eyes. There was a more profound sense of sadness in them now than she had seen since their capture. They were the eyes of a wounded child. It was obvious he felt the loss of a member of his crew more deeply than his own physical pain.   
  
She wished there was something she could say, something she could do that would help ease his mind. But what could even begin to console a man who had suffered what this one had in so brief a time?   
  
Suddenly she thought of something. It was a small thing, but it was all she had to offer him.   
  
The Lieutenant moved slowly to kneel beside the body of Patrick Graham. She hesitated only a moment, then passed here hand lightly over his face to close his eyes. She gazed at him several moments through her tears, then pushed herself up and moved to rejoin the Captain.   
  
His eyes were still trained on the Ensign's lifeless body.   
  
"Thank you," he whispered sincerely.   
  
Martina Girard was trying very hard not to cry, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She exhaled a quivering breath.   
  
"Captain...I'm frightened."   
  
Kirk turned his head to look at her. In that flash of an instant, his entire demeanor changed.   
  
"It's going to be all right, Lieutenant," he said, the new-found certainty in his voice reflecting in his eyes. "We'll get home. I swear it."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Kor sat back in his chair in the makeshift operations center as he pondered the viewscreen before him.   
  
"The good Captain is sentimental," he said aloud to no one in particular. "This could prove interesting."   
  
"Commander," came a voice from behind him. "A transmission from High Command for you, Sir."   
  
Kor waved toward the viewscreen. The image almost instantly dissolved, then reformed in the shape of a battle-scarred Klingon face.   
  
"General Kalakh," Kor acknowledged. "All is proceeding according to plan. We have encountered no resistance."   
  
"Kirk is dead, then?"   
  
"Not yet, General," the Commander replied. "But soon."   
  
The General gazed at him icily from the viewscreen. "Do not prolong it so far that you miss your opportunity, Commander," he warned. "What of the starship?"   
  
"It has not yet crossed the Neutral Zone, General...but it will." Kor had no shred of doubt that they would come.   
  
"Pray that you are right, Commander. The capture of that vessel will be the true test of this farcical treaty. The entire Klingon fleet is poised to move once the Enterprise is ours. You must not fail this mission."   
  
"I will not accept failure, General."   
  
Kalakh glared at him. "See that you do not, Commander. This transmission ends."   
  
Kor stared at the darkened viewscreen for several moments before turning to the officer behind him.   
  
"Signal Ketahl," he said firmly. "The Enterprise must be ours."   
  



	9. Chapter 8

DEGUELLO - Chapter 8  
by Trish Bennett   
  
The man in the command chair was not the one who visited McCoy's office in the wee hours of the morning. This Spock was cool and aloof, the epitome of Vulcan control. The Doctor moved to stand beside him.   
  
"Well, you look rested," he muttered, not quite sure of what to make of the sudden transformation.   
  
The Vulcan ignored the comment. "Is there something you require, Doctor?"   
  
An explanation would be nice!   
  
"No," he said instead, as smoothly as he could manage. "Just thought I'd check in, see what was happening."   
  
"Our situation remains unchanged, Doctor."   
  
McCoy decided not to push it, though it was an effort to control his exasperation.   
  
"Well, then...I guess I'll be in Sickbay if you need me."   
  
"I shall contact you if I do."   
  
McCoy opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. He turned angrily and headed for the turbolift. It was Ensign Chekov's voice that stopped him at the doors.   
  
"Mr. Spock!" he shouted excitedly. "The Klingons are moving!"   
  
The Doctor moved quickly to stand near Uhura as the Vulcan took control of the bridge.   
  
"What is their current course and speed?"   
  
The Ensign studied the scanners. "They are on an intercept course. Half impulse power."   
  
"Red Alert," Spock ordered. "Raise shields. Mr. Scott, power up the warp drive. Mr. Sulu, maintain position until further order."   
  
A chorus of "Aye, Sirs" followed his commands, and everyone busied themselves with their assigned tasks.   
  
"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock said. "Are you still signaling the Klingon vessel?"   
  
"Aye, Sir," she replied. "Per your orders."   
  
"Ship to ship, Lieutenant," he said. "I'll take it down here."   
  
Without delay, Spock hit the communication switch at his fingertips.   
  
"Commander, Klingon vessel. This is First Officer Spock, temporarily in command of the starship Enterprise. You will immediately release your hostages and cease this aggression against our vessel, or we shall be forced to take official action. Please respond."   
  
Uhura's voice was tinged with surprise. "Mr. Spock, they're signaling."   
  
"On screen, Lieutenant."   
  
A rough, dark Klingon face quickly replaced the field of stars.   
  
"First Officer Spock," he growled. "Your temporary command is now over. You will surrender your vessel and prepare to be boarded."   
  
Spock's eyebrow rose into this hairline. "And if we do not?"   
  
"Your Captain will die," came the cold response. "Then we shall destroy you."   
  
"The taking of hostages is not a typical Klingon tactic. Please explain your actions."   
  
The Klingon ignored him. "I give you two minutes to comply."   
  
The screen went dark. The few brief seconds of silence which ensued seemed like an eternity before the Vulcan finally spoke.   
  
"It would seem that their primary goal is, in fact, the Enterprise."   
  
The young Russian turned to face him from the Science station. "But why would they kidnap the Captain?"   
  
"Maybe they thought it would be easier to take the ship if Jim was out of the way," McCoy suggested.   
  
Spock's face showed no glimmer of emotion. "Perhaps," he replied thoughtfully, then turned his attention to their more immediate problem. "Phaser crews stand ready. Arm photon torpedoes. Mr. Sulu, I would prefer not to fire on that vessel, but it appears to be inevitable. I want you to target their engines and weapon systems only. Do I make myself clear?"   
  
"Aye, Sir."   
  
Spock spun the command chair to face his Communications officer. "Lieutenant Uhura, notify Starfleet of our situation."   
  
She nodded quickly and turned back to her station.   
  
"Mr. Chekov," Spock continued, finally rising from his chair. "Transfer tactical display to helm control." He moved to stand with the Ensign at the Science station.   
  
Chekov quickly made the transfer, then stepped back obligingly to allow Spock to peer into the scanner. The blue reflection cast an eerie, alien look to his face.   
  
McCoy moved toward him. "What are you doing?"   
  
"I am adjusting the scanners, Doctor," he replied without looking up.   
  
McCoy rolled his eyes. He had hoped to avoid this little game of Twenty Questions, but the Vulcan was not cooperating.   
  
"What for?"   
  
"Every source of energy," Spock explained absently, "must cycle at regular intervals."   
  
"What source of energy?"   
  
"Their shields?" It was Montgomery Scott's voice from across the bridge at the Engineering station.   
  
Spock nodded, quicky completing the adjustments. "Precisely. Mr. Chekov, I want to know how often their shield power is disrupted and the duration between cycles." He moved back to the command chair. "Mr. Scott, have the Transporter Room standing by. Once their shields are down, we will have very little time to locate the landing party and beam them aboard."   
  
McCoy stood back in awe. At first, he had thought the Vulcan's cold manner had stemmed from embarrassment. For Spock, the scene in McCoy's office might have seemed like a full-blown emotional outburst. But the Doctor was beginning to realize it wasn't embarrassment but confidence that had brought about the change. The Vulcan was in control and following a logical course of action to his desired outcome. Suddenly McCoy shared in that confidence. Jim Kirk was coming home!   
  
"Warp drive power levels at one-hundred percent, Mr. Spock," Scott reported. "Transporter Room standing by."   
  
"Very well. Back us off, Mr. Sulu. One-quarter impulse power. Analysis, Mr. Chekov?"   
  
"Nothing yet, Sir."   
  
"They've gone into warp, Mr. Spock!" Sulu shouted. Disrupter banks activating."   
  
"Evasive maneuvers," Spock ordered calmly. "Keep us out of the Neutral Zone, Lieutenant."   
  
A brilliant flash lit the viewscreen as the Klingon ship opened fire, and to McCoy, Sulu's report seemed quite unnecessary.   
  
"Disrupter charge incoming."   
  
The words had barely crossed his lips when the charge hit their defensive screens. The Enterprise rocked against the impact.   
  
"Shields holding," Scott stated quickly.   
  
Chekov finally called out from the Science station. "Two-point-seven-three minute intervals, Mr. Spock! Point-six-four second duration."   
  
"We shall have no margin for error," Spock said. "Mr. Sulu, transfer phasers to computer control. Mr. Chekov, program phaser barrage for the next cycle interval."   
  
The orders were flying fast and furious, and McCoy privately wondered if Spock had even taken a breath.   
  
"Mr. Sulu, once their shields are down, target photon torpedoes on their disrupter banks and fire. Mr. Scott..." He turned to face the Engineer. "They may attempt to flee. Ready tractor beams and lock onto that vessel the moment their weapon systems are disabled. Mr. Chekov, stand ready to locate the landing party and have them beamed aboard."   
  
McCoy moved to Uhura's station. "Lieutenant, get hold of Christine. Have her get a medical team to the Transporter Room. I'll join them in a few minutes."   
  
"Yes, Doctor," she replied happily, turning to her console.   
  
Another disrupter blast slammed against the Enterprise's shields. The Doctor grabbed the back of Uhura's chair for support.   
  
"Forward shields at eighty-two percent," Scott reported.   
  
"Damage control procedures," Spock ordered. "Mr. Chekov, time to automated firing sequence?"   
  
"Thirty-six seconds and counting, Sir."   
  
Another flash of light illuminated the viewscreen, and McCoy braced himself for the impact. It seemed, though, that this charge was more violent than the others.   
  
"Forward shields down to fifty-three percent," Scott shouted. "They won't take another hit like that!"   
  
"Time?" Spock demanded.   
  
Sulu, who had started the chronometer at the last report, responded quickly. "Eighteen seconds and counting."   
  
"Protect forward shields, Mr. Sulu," Spock said.   
  
"Aye, Sir. Photon torpedoes standing by." He began the verbal countdown at ten seconds.   
  
The tension on the bridge seemed to increase steadily with each passing second.   
  
"...four...three...two...one..."   
  
The sudden blue flash was startlingly bright against the blackness of space. Even though McCoy had been expecting it, the sudden phaser fire made his jump visibly.   
  
Hours seemed to drag by before Sulu finally shouted, "It worked! Their shields are down!"   
  
Spock leapt ever gracefully from the command chair. "Now, Mr. Sulu! Fire!"   
  
The white flash of the torpedoes came before the Vulcan had even finished his sentence. The entire crew's timing and reflexes were tuned to perfection, and their torpedo fire was answered with a minor explosion at the battle cruiser's disrupter position.   
  
A loud cheer rose from the bridge crew, but Spock's voice quickly cut through the clamor.   
  
"Activate tractor beam," he ordered. "Mr. Chekov, locate the landing party and get their coordinates to the Transporter Room."   
  
"Tractor beam on," Scott reported, pride and confidence dripping from his thick Scottish brogue.   
  
"Mr. Chekov," Spock repeated. "Coordinates."   
  
"Attempting to locate, Mr. Spock," the Ensign replied, his fingers scrambling at the controls.   
  
"Mr. Spock!" Sulu sounded concerned. "I'm picking up an overload in progress aboard the Klingon vessel."   
  
"What sort of overload, Lieutenant?"   
  
"Unknown, Sir, but it's intensifying. Nearly at critical level now, Sir."   
  
Scott studied the readings from his station. "It's their self-destruct mechanism, Mr. Spock! We have to get our tractor beam off that ship!"   
  
Spock wasted no time. "Release tractor beam. Mr. Chekov, coordinates!" His voice was stern.   
  
"I'm trying, Mr. Spock!" Chekov cried in frustration. "I can't get the..."   
  
At that instant, they all knew it was too late. A blinding explosion of fire and light filled the viewscreen. The bridge fell deathly silent, its crew left staring helplessly at the drifting remnants of the battle cruiser.   
  
The Captain was gone.   
  



	10. Chapter 9

DEGUELLO - Chapter 9  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Lieutenant Girard was tired. How long had it been now? An hour...a day...a week? She couldn't be sure. She had been pacing about the cavern searching for a means of escape, but so far to no avail. The chamber was barren, and she could find only one exit. Unfortunately, it happened to be the way they came in, and it was obstructed by an impenetrable force field.   
  
It was a concentrated effort to ignore the corpse of her crewmate on the cavern floor, but she couldn't allow herself to think about that right now. I'll think about it tomorrow, she decided, and the thought brought a grim smile to her lips.   
  
It was a passage from a book she had read long ago, a novel about the 19th century Civil War in America. At the time, she had berated the novel's heroine for refusing to face reality, but now she understood with shocking clarity. By allowing yourself to dwell on your failures, you lose sight of the one thing that will see you through them -- hope.   
  
Girard turned back to look at Kirk, who was slumped uncomfortably on the stone floor against the cavern wall. He seemed drained almost to the point of exhaustion. If only he could sleep, at least for a little while, maybe he could regain some of his strength. Then they could find a way out of here together. But as much as she wanted to, she couldn't let him sleep. Better for her to keep him awake than the Klingons. She had to keep him talking.   
  
"You know, Captain," she said, continuing her surveillance in an attempt to keep herself awake. "I had heard..."   
  
Kirk interrupted with a feeble chuckle. "I think we can forego the official titles at this point, Lieutenant. It's Jim."   
  
Her surprise quickly transformed to a smile. "Tina," she corrected. "Anyway, I had heard that you were something of a literary scholar."   
  
"A scholar?" His voice was tinged with amusement. "I don't know if I'd go that far."   
  
"Who's your favorite author?"   
  
Kirk's eyes closed briefly, and he seemed to shiver slightly before opening them again.   
  
"Look, Lieutenant...Tina...I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it really isn't necessary."   
  
"I'm trying to amuse myself," she countered quickly. "And believe me, it is necessary."   
  
He gazed at her in silence, then finally looked away, shifting his weight in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. It didn't seem to help.   
  
"All right," he said, but she got the distinct impression that he didn't quite believe her. "I don't think it gets much better than Shakespeare."   
  
Girard stopped her inspection of the rough cavern walls and turned to face him.   
  
"You're kidding."   
  
He smiled wearily. "You don't like Shakespeare?"   
  
"No, on the contrary. I enjoy it very much." She couldn't seem to stop staring at him, and feared her expression was probably one of awe.   
  
"What's wrong?"   
  
"Nothing. It's just that..." She finally moved to sit facing him on the floor beside his outstretched legs. "You just...well, you kind of surprise me, that's all."   
  
"How's that?"   
  
She almost wished she hadn't started this conversation. Here she was, Martina Girard, having a personal conversation with the Captain of the Federation's flagship. What could she possibly say that would be of any interest to him?   
  
But he had asked a question, and she did have his undivided attention. Actually, he seemed rather curious. She decided to press on.   
  
"I heard a lot of things about you, especially at the Academy. Frankly, I wasn't sure how much of it to believe." Suddenly she found her own curiosity getting the best of her. "Is it true you beat the Kobayashi Maru test?"   
  
Kirk smiled. "On my third attempt."   
  
"You took it three times?"   
  
"I don't like to lose," he said quickly. So quickly, in fact, that she got the impression it was his standard response to a question he was asked often.   
  
"I guess not. But you're the only person who has ever beaten it. How did you do it?"   
  
The Captain appeared pleasantly reluctant. "I don't think Starfleet Academy would want that to become public knowledge."   
  
"No, I don't suppose they would." She tried to sound only slightly disappointed. "Still, I don't see how you did it. Short of reprogramming the simulator, there's no..."   
  
Kirk's surprised reaction made her cut herself short abruptly.   
  
"No!", she said in disbelief. "You reprogrammed the simulator? And you didn't get kicked out?"   
  
Kirk motioned her closer with a tilt of his head. Girard leaned forward inquisitively.   
  
"I've got a little secret," he whispered in her ear. "I got a commendation for originality."   
  
Girard sat back to look at him, unsure whether to believe him or not. "Now you're teasing me," she said.   
  
"Maybe," he replied with a verbal shrug. "Maybe not."   
  
The Lieutenant was not entirely convinced, but it didn't seem to matter as she considered her new Captain thoughtfully. Knowing of someone was so much different than actually knowing them. And James Kirk could be an absolute treat.   
  
"Well, if you did," she said finally, "you must be truly blessed."   
  
Kirk's eyes surveyed the room around them ruefully, and she suddenly saw a hint of gloom in them.   
  
"It doesn't seem so at the moment, does it?"   
  
"You're really quite different than I expected," she offered quickly, trying to keep his mind off their current predicament. "You're a very complex man."   
  
Kirk inhaled deeply, but the action made him cringe against the pain. After a moment, he chuckled morosely and drew his arms in to cradle his injured side.   
  
"...Ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man..."   
  
Girard recognized the words with mild alarm. It was Mercutio's death speech from Romeo and Juliet. She felt her stomach tighten, and she reached out to grasp his shackled hands in hers.   
  
"I don't believe that," she said firmly, "and neither do you. I intend to have a long and successful career under your command, and I'm not about to let some Klingon tell me otherwise."   
  
A hint of tenderness glistened in his eyes. As much as she wanted to, she could not look away.   
  
"Then maybe I should try again," he said at last, his voice very near a whisper. He slid his hands from hers and reached out to tip her chin. "There lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity."   
  
As she gazed into his face, she suddenly found that she could not quite catch her breath. Well, she thought, apparently some of the rumors about the good Captain were true.   
  
"I like that scene much better," she whispered.   
  
At the gentle urging of his fingertips, she leaned slowly to him. His lips were dry but soft, his kiss a light, lingering caress. And suddenly, as grim and hopeless as their situation was, there was nowhere in the universe she would rather be.   
  
After several moments, she reluctantly pulled back and opened her eyes. She offered him a faint smile.   
  
"Remember to do that again sometime."   
  
"You can count on it."   
  
She was so completely mesmerized by the power of his gaze that she failed to notice the sudden silence of the force field. The voice from the doorway nearly made her jump.   
  
"There lies more peril in thine eye," Kor repeated mockingly, "than twenty of their swords... How truly naive you are, Captain."   
  
Kirk glared at the Klingon. "Are you here for a reason, Kor?" he snapped angrily. "Or just to dazzle me with your charm?"   
  
Kor grinned widely. "The charm I leave to you, my passionate friend. I have no use for it. Actually, you seemed to be enjoying yourselves. We can't have that now, can we?"   
  
Kirk's steady glare never wavered. "Lesson number five?"   
  
"You learn very quickly, Captain." The Klingon seemed pleased.   
  
"There are still some questions you haven't answered, Kor."   
  
The Klingon leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a smug, arrogant pose.   
  
"Soon I will have your ship, and you will be dead, and it will no longer be of any importance."   
  
"Humor me," Kirk said, but there was no humor in his voice.   
  
"Why not?" He shrugged. "What would you have me explain for you, Captain?"   
  
"How did you know where I'd be?"   
  
Kor's smile broadened. "Your mighty Federation's security is somewhat lax, Kirk. You humans can be such trusting souls...especially when you believe some greater power is assuring your safety. It was really a rather simple matter to acquire your mission docket."   
  
"But you won't tell me how?"   
  
Kor seemed to ponder the question. "No," he said at last. "I don't believe I will."   
  
Kirk remained undaunted. "Where are we now?"   
  
"You are on an uninhabited planet deep inside the Neutral Zone."   
  
The Captain's face fell ever so slightly. "And my ship?"   
  
"Your ship has taken a cowardly position at the edge of the Zone. I have sent my vessel to retrieve it."   
  
"You'll never get away with it, Kor." Girard caught just a tinge of doubt in the Captain's voice.   
  
"And who's to stop me, Captain?" the Klingon gloated. "Your precious crew? I doubt it. You? Not very likely. Your Organian saviours, perhaps? Well...they haven't yet, have they?" He paused, appearing infinitely satisfied with himself. "Anything else?"   
  
"How long have we been here?"   
  
"Approximately thirty-two of your hours," Kor replied. "I imagine you must be rather tired by now. And hungry, no doubt."   
  
Kirk merely glared at him.   
  
"You are a stubborn one, aren't you?" Kor finally moved farther into the cavern. "But pain and hunger and fatigue can be a powerful combination. It will take its toll in time. Soon you will crawl on your hands and knees to beg me for your life. That is when I shall deprive you of it." The Klingon grinned widely. "Lesson number six, Captain."   
  
Kirk merely smirked. "Don't count on it."   
  
"la',ra'wI'!"   
  
The shout came from a distance, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. Kor turned, apparently angered by the interruption.   
  
"nuqneH," he barked.   
  
They continued to speak in their native Klingon, but Girard could tell that Kor was clearly displeased. She leaned closer to the Captain.   
  
"What are they saying?"   
  
"I'm not sure," Kirk replied quietly, his eyes fixed upon their captors. "Something about the Enterprise, I think."   
  
Kor suddenly drew his weapon and leveled it at the sentry. "Do'Ha'," he growled, quickly pulling the trigger. The centurion screamed as the disrupter blast struck him and promptly disintegrated before their eyes. It took several moments for Kor to regain his composure.   
  
Girard glanced quickly toward the Captain beside her. There was a hint of a smile on his lips.   
  
"Kill the messenger..." he said with satisfaction. "Bad news, Kor?"   
  
The Klingon turned his angry glare on Kirk. He was still breathing heavily in the heat of his rage.   
  
"It would seem that my crew has been somewhat overzealous. Your ship has been destroyed."   
  
The Lieutenant looked back at Kirk. His face was suddenly ashen, and he appeared to be struggling with his own composure.   
  
"That's not true!" he whispered, as if saying it could somehow make it so.   
  
"There's no one to save you now, Kirk," Kor chuckled gruesomely. "And mine is the last face you will ever see. Ponder that for a while."   
  
Girard watched after him only a moment as he reactivated the force field, then turned back to Kirk. He looked stricken and pale, the single stray lock of hair still drooping over his forehead. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were red.   
  
Her own eyes welled with tears as he slid his shackled wrists over her head and took her in his arms. She rested against him, sobbing quietly on his shoulder.   
  
"Sshhh. Don't cry," he whispered soothingly. "Please don't cry."   
  
But he clung to her as if his very soul depended on it.   
  



	11. Chapter 10

DEGUELLO - Chapter 10  
by Trish Bennett   
  
The entire bridge crew was in a state of shock.   
  
McCoy felt sick to his stomach as he watched Spock sink back into the command chair. It was a sight he was going to have to get used to. It was over. Jim Kirk was dead.   
  
He laid a quaking hand on Uhura's shoulder. "Have the medical team stand down, would you?"   
  
"Yes, Doctor," she replied. Her voice sounded as shaky as he felt.   
  
"It's my fault," came a voice from the Science station. The Doctor moved to Chekov as he continued. "I couldn't find them. It's all my fault."   
  
"Pavel," McCoy said in his best fatherly tone. "You did your best. You can't blame yourself..."   
  
"Indeed, Ensign," Spock interjected, his voice remarkably steady and calm. "Self-recrimination will not help us get the Captain back."   
  
The crew turned slowly to face him, almost simultaneously. My God!, McCoy thought. He's lost his mind!   
  
"What are you talking about?" he said. "The Captain is dead, Mr. Spock."   
  
"No, Doctor...he is not." Spock finally turned to face him, ignoring the stunned gazes of the rest of the bridge crew. "Mr. Chekov could not locate the landing party because there was nothing to locate. They were not aboard that vessel."   
  
"But, Mr. Spock..." Scott said from behind him. His voice was hopeful but wary. "They had to be on that ship. We've been scanning them the whole time. If the Captain and his party had been transferred somewhere else, we would have known."   
  
"Would we? Mr. Chekov, you said you lost the Klingons' image briefly when they entered the star system. How briefly?"   
  
"Just over eight seconds," the Ensign replied, confidence slowly returning to his voice.   
  
"Long enough to activate a transporter beam," Spock said.   
  
"Just barely, Sir," the Scotsman protested. "We lost them in the gravitational pull of the second planet. Timing and execution for a maneuver like that...well, it would be next to impossible."   
  
"Precisely." Spock's position did not waver. "They knew we would consider their disappearance an unavoidable result of the laws of physics. They wanted us to believe the Captain was still aboard."   
  
"But why?" Sulu asked.   
  
"Mr. Scott said himself that a single Klingon cruiser is no match for the Enterprise. Clearly they did not expect us to launch an attack against their vessel if it would endanger the Captain." Spock hesitated thoughtfully. "It is also clear that they have something more in mind for Captain Kirk than simply using him as bait. Mr. Chekov, begin surface sweeps of the second planet."   
  
McCoy patted the Ensign's shoulder as he turned happily back to his task, then made his way down to stand beside the command chair.   
  
"Spock," he whispered, knowing full well that the Vulcan could hear him clearly. "Are you sure?"   
  
"He is still in pain, Doctor," Spock replied almost as quietly. "And I am now sensing a great emotional turmoil. But he lives. I am quite certain."   
  
"And if we do find him? Then what?"   
  
Spock remained silent. Apparently he was still wrestling with that obstacle himself."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Kirk had been sitting on the cavern floor, the young Lieutenant nestled against him, for how long now? A day...a year...a lifetime? It really didn't seem to matter anymore.   
  
Kor had stripped everything from him. All he had worked for, his hopes and dreams, his struggles and sacrifices, had all been for nothing. His ship was gone. His friends were dead. His friends...did they truly know how much they had meant to him?   
  
And the Federation. The Federation didn't even exist, at least not here in the Neutral Zone. There was nothing left. Nothing but the uniform on his back and the woman in his arms.   
  
This woman, he thought, was all that was left of the finest crew ever assembled in Starfleet. A crew he had personally selected. A crew that he had personally led to destruction.   
  
Girard began to stir, and he reluctantly released her. He had thought for a while that she was asleep, but when he looked into her eyes, he realized he was mistaken.   
  
She seemed to be searching his face for something, a small bit of hope, perhaps, that she could hold onto. At the moment, though, he could find none to offer her.   
  
"A year or so ago, I guess it was," Kirk began unsteadily, raising his shackled hands to rub the stiff stubble of beard that covered his face, "the Enterprise answered a distress call from the Constellation. We found it drifting, dead in space. It had been attacked by a robot weapon, some kind of doomsday machine."   
  
The Lieutenant listened intently, unsure where the story was heading.   
  
"The only survivor was her commander, a man named Matt Decker. He was convinced that his ship would be destroyed by this thing, so he had beamed his entire crew down to a nearby planet in an effort to save them. He was determined to be the only one to go down with the ship. But it didn't work out that way." Kirk drew a shaky breath. "The thing ignored the Constellation and destroyed the planet instead."   
  
Girard's hand moved instinctively to her lips, muffling an involuntary gasp.   
  
"When we found him, he was in shock, horrified by the knowledge that he had sent his entire crew to their deaths...and that, by some cruel twist of fate, he survived. He ended up giving his life in an attempt to destroy the machine."   
  
The Captain closed his eyes, trying to erase the images from his mind. It didn't help.   
  
"At the time, I was too busy trying to destroy the thing to really think about it much. But after it was all over, the thought of Matt Decker haunted me. I would lie awake at night, trying to imagine the anguish and the torment he must have felt." He finally looked back into her eyes. "Now I am Matt Decker. And the one feeling I never imagined was this overwhelming sense of...emptiness. And I keep hearing his voice over and over again...A commander is responsible for the lives of his crew...and for their deaths. I should have died with mine..."   
  
It was obviously not the uplifting pep talk she had been hoping for. She bit her lip as she looked back into his face.   
  
"Please don't give up," she said earnestly. "I don't want to die here."   
  
Suddenly the Captain was deeply ashamed. He hesitated only a moment before reaching for her hand.   
  
"I've been sitting here feeling sorry for myself. I guess I wasn't thinking about how you must feel."   
  
He had lost nearly everything he had ever cared about in his life, but he still had her. And when he spoke again, his voice was filled with more conviction than he even thought possible.   
  
"There has to be a way out of this. We just have to find it."   
  
She stared at him sadly. "I wish I could have met you under different circumstances," she said at last. "I think I could have fallen in love with you."   
  
Her words caught him by surprise. He gazed into her dark eyes.   
  
"I think I could have been happy if you had."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"But what are we to do, Commander?" the centurion asked as Kor re-entered the makeshift control center. "Our vessel is destroyed."   
  
The Commander steadily ignored him as he lowered himself into his chair. He had to think. The plan was coming apart. He had to adapt. He had to improvise. He had to...   
  
Suddenly the image on the viewscreen caught his attention. He gazed at it curiously a moment. "The Enterprise is still here," he said finally. "What are they doing?"   
  
The centurion checked the scanners quickly. "They are running sensor sweeps, Commander. They appear to be looking for something."   
  
Kor's face twisted in a smile. Keeping Kirk alive had apparently worked to his advantage.   
  
"Perhaps we should give them something to find," he said, his fingers deftly working the controls before him. "Get me a channel to General Kalakh. This isn't over yet."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Surface sweeps of the second planet had uncovered nothing. Spock ordered subsurface scans to be initiated before settling back in the command chair to consider the possibilities.   
  
Kirk was alive. That much was certain. If he had died on the Klingon vessel, Spock would have known. And his presence was still quite strong in the Vulcan's subconscious.   
  
The second planet of the star system was the only place he could have been transferred without the Enterprise's knowledge. Therefore, if he could not be located somewhere on the planet surface, the only logical conclusion was that he was beneath it. Very much alive. And in enormous peril.   
  
The sound of Lieutenant Uhura's voice from behind him brought him out of his contemplative state.   
  
"Mr. Spock?"   
  
"Yes, Lieutenant?"   
  
Her head was tilted to one side as she listened intently to something from her earpiece. "There's something here, Mr. Spock," she said at last. "It's mostly static...it seems to be scrambled somehow...but it's a definite transmission frequency."   
  
Spock was out of his chair in an instant. He moved quickly up the step to join her on the upper deck.   
  
"Can you filter out the interference?"   
  
"I think so, Sir." Her fingers moved gracefully over the controls. "If I can just get this..."   
  
But in that instant, her voice was eclipsed by a cry of alarm from the Science station.   
  
"Mister Spock!" Chekov said, heavily accenting each syllable.   
  
Spock glanced up at him, then turned his head to follow the Ensign's startled gaze. His eyes, as well as all the others on the bridge of the Enterprise, fixed upon the image on the main viewscreen.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
James Kirk was in the throes of a nightmare.   
  
The pain was becoming unbearable. His vision was a blur of color and darkness, his ears filled with the deafening sound of his own screams. He had tried to control the pain, tried desperately not to cry out. But soon the agony was overwhelming.   
  
Unfortunately, some small part of him knew that this wasn't a nightmare. It was real. The pain was real. The images were real. There was no shred of hope that soon he would wake up, and it would be over.   
  
So he screamed, hoping beyond hope that it would somehow help the pain. But as the club crashed into his bruised flesh and shattered bone, he realized it wasn't that at all. Screaming just reminded him that he was alive, and if only for that reason, it served a purpose. He had a good life, a meaningful life, and he wasn't ready to let go of it. Not here. Not yet.   
  
It couldn't last much longer. He just had to hold on, just a few more minutes...just a few more minutes...   
  
And finally he was there. He had braced himself for a blow that never came. He waited for it, was ready for it, but it never came. It was over, and he had lived through it. And suddenly, he had the irresistible urge to laugh.   
  
It was an inhuman sound even to his own ears, but he had earned it. And even the painful racking in his chest could not diminish his satisfaction. He sagged against the restraints which held him upright and laughed until he no longer could.   
  
After a moment, Kirk felt a hand in his hair, roughly forcing his head back. He struggled to open his weary eyes. Kor was glaring at him with mild curiosity.   
  
"Something amuses you, Captain?" he said.   
  
The laughter was gone now, but the weak smile had not left his face. Where's a tribble when you need one?   
  
"What could...possibly amuse me, Kor?" he croaked.   
  
"I can think of nothing," the Klingon conceded. "It is possible that you have lost your mind. And what a pity...I did so enjoy your insolent banter."   
  
He released Kirk's hair as roughly as he had seized it and reached up to unlatch the shackles at Kirk's wrists. The Captain fell hard and hit the damp stone floor with a grunt.   
  
Kor knelt beside him. "We can end this any time you like, Captain," the Klingon purred. "You have but to ask."   
  
"Go to hell," Kirk groaned.   
  
Kor shrugged absently. "Have it your way, Captain. It makes little difference to me."   
  
At that moment, Kirk was filled with rage. He wanted desperately to tear at Kor with savage fury, to kill the gloating Klingon with his bare hands. He wanted the sheer, barbaric pleasure of watching Kor die.   
  
And at that moment, Kirk realized that he was truly no better than his enemy.   
  



	12. Chapter 11

DEGUELLO - Chapter 11  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Spock sat alone in the darkened Briefing Room, his eyes closed, attempting to fully comprehend what he had just witnessed.   
  
The signal that Lieutenant Uhura intercepted had left the bridge crew, in the words of Doctor McCoy, shocked and sickened. Spock himself found the images disquieting, to say the least.   
  
They had witnessed the torture of James T. Kirk by his Klingon captors. Fortunately for the human crew, it was a brief glimpse at his ordeal. The signal deteriorated as the Captain was released from his restraints, and Spock saw no practical need to reestablish it. In his opinion, they had seen quite enough.   
  
The transmission had confirmed, however, his belief that Kirk was still alive. And in tracing the source of the transmission, Lieutenant Uhura had been able to confirm that it had come from the vicinity of the second planet.   
  
The incident had also confirmed Spock's belief that they could not afford to wait for reinforcements to arrive. They had to take action soon or the Captain would not survive.   
  
The sound of the door opening startled him. Had he been human, he might have jumped at the sound. Spock, however, remained absolutely motionless.   
  
He raised his eyes to see the senior officers of the Enterprise enter single-file through the doors. They stood together as the doors closed behind them in a visual display of solidarity.   
  
Spock had left them on the bridge to determine the Captain's location beyond any reasonable doubt. If they were to take official action, he would need more than conjecture and intuition on which to base his decision.   
  
"You have found something?" he said, unsure what to make of their unexpected visit.   
  
Ensign Chekov, though somewhat hesitant, stepped forward to speak. "I was unable to locate any life signs on the second planet, Mr. Spock," he said, glancing quickly toward the others for some sort of moral support. "But there are indications of a power source from beneath the planet surface."   
  
"Have you eliminated the possibility of a natural source?"   
  
"Yes, Sir."   
  
Spock waited for an explanation but the officers remained uneasily silent. Humans could be such indecisive creatures.   
  
"I assume there is another reason for this visit," he said at last.   
  
Lieutenant Sulu glanced quickly at his companions, then he, too, stepped forward to speak.   
  
"Mr. Spock...it is the concensus of the crew that we abide by your decision, of course, but..." He stopped hesitantly, apparently searching for the words. "We want you to know that we are willing to go into the Neutral Zone, despite the orders from Starfleet, in order to rescue the Captain. We just wanted you to know that, Sir, in case it has some bearing on your decision."   
  
Spock wanted to make sure he had heard the Lieutenant correctly. "You have the consensus of the entire crew," he repeated, "to violate Starfleet order and Neutral Zone treaty?"   
  
"Er..." Sulu glanced at the others again. "Yes, Sir."   
  
Spock looked into each of their faces in turn, finally focusing on Doctor McCoy. The Doctor offered him a weak smile and shrug. Spock finally lowered his hands and clasped them on the table before him.   
  
"You must certainly be aware of the consequences of such an action," he said firmly. "The Enterprise could very well be destroyed, or worse yet, captured. And even if we were successful and survived the attempt to rescue Captain Kirk, we would all very likely be court martialed on charges of mutiny." He gazed at all of them intently. "Do you understand what I am saying?"   
  
He received a simultaneous nod of assent.   
  
"Spock..." McCoy said. "We also know that we are not scheduled to rendezvous with the Yorktown and Excalibur for another day and a half. I think all of us are aware by now that Jim Kirk doesn't have that long. Rules and regulations aside, I think we all agree that we have to try. If we don't, we'll never be able to live with ourselves." He paused briefly, then added, "I don't see any other alternative."   
  
Although the very thought of it made him uneasy, Spock was forced to agree with the Doctor.   
  
"Unfortunately, Doctor, neither do I." He ignored the smiles of relief on their faces as he continued. "It is quite possible that there are other cloaked vessels out there, just waiting for us to cross the Neutral Zone."   
  
"But if there were," Scott broke in, "wouldn't they have assisted the other ship rather than let it self-destruct?"   
  
"That was my thought as well, Engineer," Spock agreed. "But if we are correct, we must move quickly before reinforcements have a chance to arrive."   
  
Spock rose smoothly from his chair and stood at rigid attention before them.   
  
"However, I must make one thing absolutely clear. Under no circumstances can we allow the Enterprise to fall into enemy hands. Mr. Scott, I want you to adapt our own self-destruct mechanism to be quickly and easily accessible at a moment's notice if it becomes necessary. And I will not hesitate to use it if I see no other alternatives."   
  
"Aye, Sir," Scotty replied without hesitation.   
  
"Very well. Return to your stations. I shall join you momentarily."   
  
The group filed out of the Briefing Room the same way they had entered, in rigid, single-file formation. Only the Doctor remained behind.   
  
"You have a comment, Doctor?" Spock said after a moment.   
  
McCoy gazed at him solemnly a moment, then offered him a smile of approval.   
  
"Nothing important," he said finally. "Just...thanks."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The hand that touched Kirk's shoulder made him jump, though it was a soothing, gentle touch. He raised his head just slightly off the cavern floor.   
  
"...Tina?"   
  
"Yes, Jim," she whispered. "It's all right. He's gone."   
  
Relief flooded over him, and he could think of nothing to say but her name.   
  
"Tina..."   
  
Girard sobbed openly as she rolled him to her, easing his back across her lap and cradling his head in her arm.   
  
At least his hands were free of the shackles that had bound him since their capture. That was a relief in itself. Then he realized the pain had greatly subsided. Maybe he was just getting used to it. Maybe he was becoming immune. And maybe...just maybe...it gave him a new advantage.   
  
"Please don't leave me here alone," he heard her whisper urgently as she brushed his matted hair away from his face. "Please..."   
  
Kirk opened his eyes to look at her. It was a simple thing, but it seemed to console her immensely. She smiled at him through her tears.   
  
"You're amazing," she said at last.   
  
The Captain chuckle morosely. "Amazingly stupid," he said hoarsely. Anyone else would simply have died by now and gotten it over with. Why was he being so stubborn? Why did he still feel they had a chance?   
  
"Aren't you even scared?"   
  
He hadn't realized until she said it that fear was the one emotion that he had lost. When did that happen?   
  
"No, not anymore. Seems kind of senseless now, don't you think?"   
  
Her tears were nearly gone now. "Yes, I guess it does."   
  
Kirk gazed at her through heavy eyelids as she stroked the hair at his forehead. She seemed much more calm now, immensely relieved that he...   
  
Wait a minute!   
  
The Captain had an idea. Not much of an idea, granted, but it was something that had worked for him in the past.   
Just a moment ago, Girard had been concerned that he would die and leave her here alone. Kor certainly wasn't ready for that to happen, either. Perhaps this was the opportunity he had been waiting for.   
  
Kirk was feeling stronger now, but he couldn't let the Klingons know it. Unfortunately, that meant he couldn't let his young Lieutenant know it, either. He had to keep up the facade. He searched desperately for something to say.   
  
"There are some things I've done..." he said softly, weakly. "Some things I haven't done...that I regret. I've lost a lot of people I've cared about."   
  
It had started as a ruse, a deception to convince the Klingons that his injuries were more severe than they actually were. But as he spoke, the words seemed to come much easier, and Kirk himself began to wonder where the fantasy ended and reality began.   
  
"Sometimes it was necessary," he said, and the faces of absent friends appeared clearly in his memory. Gary Mitchell. Edith Keeler. Then his brother, Sam. And Carol Marcus. "And sometimes it wasn't."   
  
He looked back into Girard's face. Kirk knew it sounded like a last confession, for it certainly felt like one.   
  
"You give up a lot for a career like ours. Too much, I think."   
  
"Maybe," Girard replied thoughtfully. "But if it weren't for Starfleet, I'd never have met you."   
  
Kirk closed his eyes. "Small consolation, isn't it?"   
  
"Actually, I think it was worth it." When he opened his eyes, she graced him with the most beautifully peaceful smile he had ever seen. "...methinks I could not die anywhere so contented as in the king's company -- his cause being just and his quarrel honourable..."   
  
Kirk was at a complete loss for words. He continued to gaze at her, for hours it seemed, before she finally spoke again.   
  
"You know what I regret most? Never having children." She continued to stroke his hair absently as she spoke. "Seems kind of silly, doesn't it? I'd never have time for them anyway."   
  
"I have a child," Kirk confessed solemnly. "A son I've never seen. He's probably eight, maybe nine years old now...I don't know." He heaved a painful sigh. "I don't even know what he looks like. And he doesn't even know my name."   
  
"He will, someday," she said. "And I think he'll be proud to know that you're his father."   
  
Kirk looked into her dark eyes and couldn't resist a feeble chuckle. "You were voted Most Optimistic in your graduating class, weren't you?" he said dryly.   
  
She gave him a coy smile and quickly bit her lip. "Does it show?"   
  
"Just a little."   
  
He chuckled again, then began to cough. It was an annoying, uncontrollable spasm, but at least it worked nicely into his plan. As the spell began to subside, he opened his eyes and looked up into her now frightened face.   
  
"Listen to me," he whispered urgently. "I'm not going to make it out of here. I think we both know that by now."   
  
Girard's breath quickened, and she shook her head, attempting a reassuring smile. "Don't talk like that," she said softly. "Everything will be fine, you'll see..."   
  
Kirk closed his eyes and exhaled a moan that wasn't completely an act. "It's too late for that." He took quick, shallow breaths, making it more and more difficult for him to speak. "You're the only one left...who can tell the Federation what really happened here. Do you hear me? You have to find a way!"   
  
Girard appeared almost frantic now. "But how?"   
  
"I don't know. Just promise me...you have to try!" His voice was a desperate whisper.   
  
"I will...I promise."   
  
"Good..." He breathed, allowing himself to be consoled by her vow. Kirk closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. She believed the act. Perhaps that meant the Klingons would believe it, too.   
  
Kirk began to breathe more and more unevenly, occasionally allowing a muffled cough to break the silence. He heard her unsteady voice repeating his name, but he made no effort to respond. It was time. And it had to work.   
  
He regretted having to deceive her this way, but he needed a sincere reaction from her if he was to convince Kor that he was near death. And what he got was sincerity tenfold.   
  
"Oh God, don't die!" she sobbed, her trembling hand squeezing his until it hurt. "Please don't die!" Her voice rose suddenly as she cried in desperation, "Oh please, somebody help me!"   
  
And then he heard it. The heavy footsteps echoing outside the chamber. The force field falling silent. He felt her body tense as the Klingon knelt close beside him.   
  
Kirk opened his eyes a sliver and quickly spotted the Commander's disrupter in its holster at his side. Just then, he felt the hot Klingon hand lightly slapping his face.   
  
"Wake up, Captain," Kor said smoothly. "It's not time for you to go yet."   
  
And then he did it. In one smooth movement, Kirk was able to pull the weapon from its holster and push himself off the Lieutenant's lap. It took more effort than he had expected, and he suddenly felt very dizzy, but he was able to keep the disrupter aimed steadily at the Klingon's chest.   
  
"Oh, yes it is!" Kirk growled angrily. "Back up."   
  
Kor moved back obligingly but continued to glare steadily into the Captain's face. His expression was unreadable.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk noticed a Klingon sentry reaching slowly for his disrupter.   
  
"Pull it out slowly!" Kirk barked. "Then drop it...and back away." His eyes shifted back to Kor's.   
  
Kor hesitated only a moment and then, without looking away from Kirk, nodded his head smoothly. The sentry immediately obliged, then stepped back from the weapon on the floor.   
  
Kirk glanced quickly at his stunned companion beside him. Her mouth was open, and she was staring at him with wide-eyed amazement. But he didn't have time to think about that right now.   
  
"Go get it," he ordered. "Then come back here."   
  
"Yes, Sir," she said, scrambling quickly to her feet.   
  
Kirk watched her warily approach the guard, crouch down slowly to retrieve the weapon, then ease her way back to stand next to him. She kept the disrupter trained on the second Klingon.   
  
Kirk rose stiffly to his feet, careful to keep his own disrupter leveled at Kor. The Commander's face was still etched in stone.   
  
"How many more guards," Kirk demanded. "Tell me."   
  
Kor allowed himself a sly smile. "Would you honestly believe me if I did?"   
  
"No, I suppose not." Kirk reached for his Lieutenant's hand. "Well, it's been...delightful, as always, Kor. We really must do this again sometime."   
  
The Klingon remained silent as Kirk and Girard backed gingerly toward the cavern entrance. Once they had passed through it, Kirk quickly activated the force field. Then he realized he was sweating.   
  
Kirk made sure they were well out of view of the Klingons in the primitive cell before he finally stopped and leaned himself against the cavern wall. He had to get his bearings. He had to catch his breath.   
  
"Are you all right?" Girard asked, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand. "You're as white as a ghost."   
  
"I'll be all right," he said. "Just give me a minute." He finally looked into her face. "I'm sorry I had to deceive you like that. I was running out of ideas."   
  
"Don't apologize," she offered quickly, then an impish smile crossed her lips. "Just don't ever do that to me again!"   
  
The Captain returned the smile. "I'll try to remember that."   
  
Girard sobered, studying him intently. "Captain...even if we do manage to escape, then what? What are we going to do?"   
  
Kirk shrugged. "I don't know," he said honestly. "We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Come on, let's get out of here."   
  



	13. Chapter 12

DEGUELLO - Chapter 12  
by Trish Bennett   
  
The cavern was a myriad of winding tunnels and jagged pathways, and Kirk's normally flawless sense of direction was beginning to fail him. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that was clouding his brain. Or the hunger. Or the pain. Kor had been right. It was a powerful combination.   
  
Kirk had known they were making the wrong turn before they did it, but he made the mistake of second-guessing his instincts. Now he feared they were hopelessly lost in the Klingon's hellish labyrinth.   
  
They had reached a dead end. Their last turn brought them to a chamber much like in which Kor was now imprisoned. And Kirk's frustration and frazzled nerves were beginning to take their toll.   
  
"Dammit!" he snapped, angry with his own stupidity. He kneaded his forehead with his fingertips, hoping it would ease the throbbing in his head. It didn't.   
  
"Look," Girard said, "maybe we should just stop here...rest for a few minutes. You really don't look well."   
  
Probably the understatement of the century.   
  
"No," he replied. "We've got to keep going. I don't know how long we have before reinforcements start showing up."   
  
"Then will you at least let me help you?" she snapped. Apparently it was getting to her as well. "Stop trying to be a hero. You're hurt."   
  
Kirk shot her an impatient glare, and their eyes locked in silent combat for several seconds before she finally relented.   
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly.   
  
Kirk heaved a sigh. "Don't be. You just sounded like Doctor McCoy for a minute."   
  
"Is that good or bad?"   
  
He smiled quickly, shaking his head. "Just annoying sometimes. Come on, let's keep moving."   
  
And then he heard it. It was a low, steady growl, almost imperceptible at first. Apparently it was not his imagination, however, for Girard's eyes met his at the same instant. Then the sound came again.   
  
They both turned slowly, simultaneously, toward the chamber entrance.   
  
Kirk had seen many unusual creatures in his lifetime, but this one sent a cold chill up his spine. It was small by some standards, roughly the size of a terran wolf. And in appearance, it was something of a cross between a wolf and a lizard. A strip of thick, brown fur began between its pointed ears and ran the length of its reptilian back. Its long, hairless snout ended at a row of jagged, razor-edged teeth. A thick, white saliva dripped from its powerful jaws. And its body was a rich, taupish shade, almost the color of...   
  
"I thought he said this planet was uninhabited," Girard whispered beside him without taking her eyes off the beast.   
  
"That thing's not indigenous...it's Klingon. Look at it!"   
  
The creature began to move slowly, warily, like a cat stalking a mouse. Kirk raised his disrupter just as warily. He slowly squeezed the trigger...   
  
Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. And the creature was blocking the only exit.   
  
"I think we're in trouble," he said under his breath. "Try your weapon...but take it easy."   
  
Girard raised her disrupter carefully and squeezed the trigger. As he feared, her weapon was as useless as his own.   
  
He set me up!   
  
Kirk felt a rock in the pit of his stomach. If they had any chance at all left, he had to get the creature farther inside the chamber, away from the doorway. But he had to do it without provoking the beast, which could present a major problem.   
  
"Don't move," he whispered fervently to the Lieutenant at his side. "And don't look it in the eye. It might think you're challenging it."   
  
"No problem," she replied breathlessly.   
  
The creature continued to inch toward them, its hungry growl intensifying. But it was still blocking their only escape route. They had to take the chance.   
  
Kirk began to edge slowly sideways, and Girard immediately followed his lead. They remained together, arm to arm, inching along so painfully slowly that Kirk felt as though he would burst. But he couldn't afford to be impatient. If they could get the thing to circle them, they just might be able to make a run for it.   
  
But then it happened, so quickly and unexpectedly that his diminished reflexes did not have time to react. The creature lunged at them with a force that knocked Kirk to the ground, away from Lieutenant Girard. He hit the ground hard and felt his already fractured ribs shift in his chest from the sheer force of the landing. Gasping for air, he forced himself up on his hands and knees and turned his head to search for his companion.   
  
The beast was on top of the fallen Lieutenant, and her screams echoed deafeningly inside the hollow chamber. She struggled fiercely under its weight, trying with all her might to keep the jagged teeth from reaching their mark.   
  
Suddenly the knot in his stomach worked its way up through his chest, into his throat, and escaped through his mouth in a dreadful roar.   
  
"No!"   
  
He leapt at the creature with a strength he hadn't realized he still possessed and knocked it headlong away from Girard.   
  
Kirk struggled blindly to his feet, but the beast was more agile than it appeared. It hit him like a hurricane, knocking him to his back, its gnashing teeth tearing savagely through his flesh.   
  
Kirk wrapped his fingers around the creature's neck in an attempt to keep the teeth at bay, but it was no use. In desperation, he reached out blindly with his other hand, searching for anything he might be able to use to combat the monster. And in that flash of an instant, his hand hit a loose, jagged rock.   
  
It was nearly three times the size of Kirk's own fist, but he seized it quickly and swung it with all his might, pummeling the creature's head with it again and again. Even after it slumped limply over his chest, Kirk continued to pound it with the stone, venting all his anger and frustration and pain through the stone in the palm of his hand. Finally the creature slid lifelessly onto the cavern floor. It was still several moments before Kirk allowed the rock to slip from his fingers.   
  
Breathing was now a monumental effort. He gasped loudly, trying to fill his aching lungs with air, as he rolled to find Martina Girard.   
  
She lay motionless on the cavern floor several feet away from him, her blue uniform now stained red with blood. A wave of nausea passed over him as he dragged himself to her. Outstretched on his side, the Captain grasped her arm and gently rolled her to him.   
  
Her eyes were frigteningly peaceful. Girard offered him a feeble smile. "I'm glad I got to know you, James Kirk," she whispered weakly.   
  
Kirk took her hand in his and made a concerted effort to steady both his breathing and his voice. He was not entirely successful.   
  
"I'm sorry," was all he could find to say.   
  
"Don't be sorry. Just promise me something."   
  
"Anything."   
  
Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing grew shallow, and her voice was barely audible now. "Remember me..."   
  
Kirk closed his eyes tightly against the unrelenting nausea and grief before he was finally able to look at her again.   
  
"You know I will."   
  
Then he remembered another promise he had made to her. Kirk leaned down to kiss her gently on the lips.   
  
In that instant, he knew that she was gone. Her hand went deathly limp in his, her lips suddenly unresponsive. Still he lingered there a moment before exhaling a shaky breath.   
  
"...and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest..."   
  
He neither knew nor cared how long he clung to her lifeless body there on the floor of his Klingon hell, but he was finally able to pull himself away. Mercifully, her eyes were closed. He brought her hand up to kiss it gently, then then slid his arm from under her and rolled to his back to lie fully reclined beside her.   
  
Kirk closed his tired eyes. He was alone now. There was nothing to look forward to anymore, nothing left to fight for. And in a strange sort of way, it was almost comforting.   
  
But apparently he was to be denied even that much solace as the melodious Klingon voice assaulted his ears.   
  
"How very touching."   
  
Kirk wanted to ignore him, wanted desperately to pretend that he didn't exist. Kor had played him like a pipe, and Kirk had let him do it. The Klingon had let him believe that he could escape, but at the last moment had pulled the net back in on him again. He had given him hope and then snatched it away. And that was probably the cruellest torture of all.   
  
Kor was standing over him, the incessant grin clinging to his lips.   
  
"Lesson number seven, Captain," he said, as if reading Kirk's mind. "You didn't honestly think I would hand you a charged disrupter, did you?"   
  
Kirk glared at him in silence.   
  
"Well," Kor said contentedly, "it's not exactly the end I had in mind for you, Captain, but it was extremely entertaining."   
  
Kirk hadn't realized until now how severely the beast had injured him. With the gaping wounds at his shoulder and side, he would probably bleed to death in a very short time. It just didn't seem to matter anymore.   
  
Whatever it was Kor wanted to see, Kirk was surely not providing it. He watched the Klingon's face indifferently, then turned his head to gaze absently at the cavern ceiling above him.   
  
Kor seemed unaffected by his apparent lack of concern. "It was a pleasure to see you again, old friend," he purred, then shook his head ruefully. "If only you were Klingon..."   
  
And almost immediately, Kirk was left alone, more completely alone than he had ever been in his life. Never again would he feel the comforting warmth of his ship...the easy, graceful feel of the command chair beneath him. No more relaxing drinks with McCoy. No more harrowing chess tournaments with Spock...   
  
"Spock," he said aloud, then more fervently, "Spock!" His eyes closed briefly. "I'm sorry, old friend. Sorry that you never got to know yourself...the way I did."   
  
Suddenly he began to see his officers, one by one in his mind. The more he spoke, the easier the words seemed to come. It was comforting, in a way, to be able to say goodbye.   
  
"Bones," he said. "You always said that men should never have to die in space. I'm just glad that, when your time came, you were among friends."   
  
Kirk's eyes scanned the ceiling, as if searching for their faces in the hard, implacable rock. A smile suddenly played on his cracked lips.   
  
"Scotty..." he began. "You are the only person who has ever made me feel that my ship wasn't completely my own...and the only one who could ever have gotten away with it. It was a privilege to share her with you."   
  
The Captain breathed deeply.   
  
"And Uhura...whose name means freedom. I think your greatest beauty was the dignity you bestowed that name."   
  
His smile broadened at his next thought, and he closed his eyes briefly before continuing.   
  
"Chekov..." he muttered. "I'm glad you never lost the innocence of youth...and that you never had to learn that not everything was a Russian invention..."   
  
Then he thought of his helmsman, the steady, reliable Sulu, talking to his plants...fencing in the gym...marveling with pride over his gun collection...   
  
"And Sulu...whose interests were as vast as his abilities. I never had to worry about you. Maybe I took you for granted because of that. I just hope you knew what an asset you were to me."   
  
Kirk heaved a painful sigh.   
  
"I hope you all did."   
  
His eyes roamed to Lieutenant Girard beside him. Then he turned his head back and closed his eyes.   
  
"Take us home, Mr. Sulu," he said softly. "Take us home."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The Enterprise had nearly reached the second planet of the star system, and thus far they had encountered no resistance. Spock's hypothesis had been correct. Now if he could retrieve the landing party and return to the Enterprise with the same alacrity, he would consider himself very fortunate, indeed.   
  
A sudden uneasiness made him draw his breath sharply. Something was different. The Captain's presence, though still with him, was beginning to wane. Spock sat back in the command chair and gazed sternly into the viewscreen before him.   
  
"Captain..." he said softly, though he had no reason to believe that he could be heard. He closed his eyes and concentrated.   
  
Jim...you must hold on. I shall be there shortly.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Kirk was drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness. He felt relaxed and peaceful, more so than he had ever been. He did not even feel the pain anymore.   
  
Suddenly, something made him draw a sharp breath. His eyes snapped open.   
  
"...Spock?"   
  
It was no more than a whisper. Then his vision finally focused on the cavern, the creature, and the spreading crimson stain that soaked his gold uniform.   
  
It had to happen sooner or later. He was losing his mind. But that voice...though he had felt it more than he actually heard it, it was so real. So insistent.   
  
He closed his eyes again, but the words remained etched in his mind.   
  
Hold on...hold on...   
  



	14. Chapter 13

DEGUELLO - Chapter 13  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Spock had left Lieutenant Commander Scott in command of the Enterprise when he transported down to the planet's surface. He left the Engineer with specific instructions to fight only if he was assured of winning, to flee if he was not, and to use the self-destruct mechanism in the event that neither of those options were feasible.   
  
Doctor McCoy had been furious with Spock's decision that he remain aboard the Enterprise, but Spock had stood firmly by that decision. If he was successful, McCoy could tend to the injured Captain in his own Sickbay. If he was not, no measure of medical skill would be able to help him.   
  
Spock had beamed down to the planet surface without incident, and his tricorder readings led him directly to the source of the power emanations. He proceeded with extreme caution, his phaser drawn, into the gaping tunnel. As the Captain would say, so far so good.   
  
Spock edged his way gingerly down the steep decline, following the tricorder readings that would lead him to the Captain. There was no indication of a Klingon presence anywhere in the vicinity. Perhaps they had simply left Kirk here to die. Not an atypical Klingon tactic, but he dared not let his guard down for a moment.   
  
He was becoming more concerned with each step he took. If the Captain was as weak as he suspected, it was going to require an amazing determination to get him to the surface where they could safely transport back to the Enterprise. Fortunately, determination was one thing Spock knew he possessed in sufficient measure.   
  
He did not have much farther to go. The readings indicated one human life form, approximately fifty yards away, directly ahead. It was a chamber positioned at the far end of the rocky precipice. Spock quickened his pace.   
  
Even Spock, though, could not have been prepared for the sight that awaited him. His eyes scanned the cavern quickly, acknowledging the dead animal, the Lieutenant...and the Captain.   
  
He stopped dead in his tracks for a moment of sheer disbelief before racing to the Captain's side. The human looked deathly pale, severely injured. His eyes were closed, and Spock had to look at him closely to be certain he was even breathing.   
  
Kirk's condition could be considered grave, at best. Spock surveyed the damage quickly. Apart from numerous cuts and bruises, the Captain was bleeding from two open wounds, although not profusely. His breathing was erratic, to say the least. And the line of his rib cage beneath the gold uniform shirt was noticeably marred, indicating several broken ribs.   
  
Spock leaned over him. "Jim," he said softly, urgently. The human stirred but did not open his eyes. "Jim!"   
  
At last the eyelids fluttered, and Kirk looked at him, attempting to focus his eyes. His mouth formed the word Spock but no sound accompanied it. A smile nearly lit his face, but his expression changed from relief to confusion to apprehension in the flash of an instant.   
  
He finally found a feeble voice. "Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd...?"   
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Hamlet," he said. "Act I, Scene IV."   
  
Kirk's breath quickened, and he stared at him in mounting confusion.   
  
"No," he whispered, shaking his head groggily as if to clear it. "You're dead..."   
  
"I'm afraid I must differ with you, Captain, but we've no time to argue to point. I must get you back to the Enterprise."   
  
Spock moved to readjust his tricorder, inadvertently brushing the Captain's arm with the back of his hand. Kirk inhaled sharply at the touch.   
  
At first, Spock thought the reaction was one of pain, but when he looked into the Captain's face, he realized he was mistaken. Kirk stared at Spock's hand in confusion a moment before he finally raised his eyes to meet the Vulcan's steady gaze.   
  
"Spock!" he said, a smile finally appearing through the disbelief. "It is you."   
  
"Yes, Captain," Spock said quickly, "but we must proceed with haste."   
  
He scanned Kirk with the tricorder and quickly determined that first aid could wait until they were safely aboard the Enterprise. If they could even get to the Enterprise...   
  
"This is going to be quite difficult, Captain," Spock confessed. "Do you think you can stand?"   
  
Kirk stared at him blankly, then finally shook his head. "I can't feel my legs."   
  
Quite difficult would appear to be an understatement.   
  
"I can't see him, Spock," Kirk announced suddenly, and Spock tensed for unwelcome company. "I can hear him, but I can't see him."   
  
Spock waited, but no one appeared. They were completely alone. And if the Captain had heard something, then surely his acute Vulcan hearing would have detected it as well. Spock's eyes narrowed slightly.   
  
"Who?"   
  
Kirk's eyes scanned the chamber as he said slightly louder, "Sam?" It was more a call to an unseen presence than an actual reply.   
  
Spock's mind was racing. Sam was the name of Kirk's brother. His dead brother. Could that be to whom he was speaking in the throes of delirium? Or was it something else?   
  
He sat back on his heels, suddenly struck by the memory of something he had read long ago. It was something about the human mental process that he had never quite understood before. Now the concept hit him with shocking clarity.   
  
He had read that, at times, humans relived their entire lives in the fraction of an instant, some even claiming to hear voices calling to them. It was the death process. The Captain was dying.   
  
Kirk's eyes were disturbingly clear, his face still unnervingly peaceful as he looked back at Spock.   
  
"He keeps running farther and farther ahead," he said earnestly. "I can't keep up with him."   
  
Spock did not claim to understand human psychology, but he decided to employ a very basic tactic.   
  
"Do not follow him, Captain," he said firmly, but his voice was very near a whisper.   
  
"I'm supposed to stay with him..."   
  
It wasn't working. Perhaps he should have brought Doctor McCoy along after all. Spock knew he had to keep him talking.   
  
"Are you in pain, Captain?"   
  
Kirk seemed to consider the question. "You know, Spock...it's not that bad anymore. I just feel kind of...numb."   
  
Spock pushed himself to his feet. "We must get to the surface, Captain. I shall require your assistance."   
  
Kirk gazed at him a moment, shivered slightly, then turned his head back to gaze at the ceiling above him.   
  
"It's so cold..."   
  
Spock felt his stomach muscles tighten as he stared at the human at his feet. He was losing him. Spock could think of nothing else to do.   
  
"Captain Kirk," he snapped crisply.   
  
Kirk jumped, startled, and his eyes searched the Vulcan's stern face. His breath quickened.   
  
"Name..." Spock commanded in his best authoritative tone. "Rank...serial number."   
  
"James...T. Kirk," he whispered. "Captain. SC-937-0176-CEC."   
  
"Again!" Spock's voice was still demanding and firm.   
  
"James T. Kirk. Captain. SC-937-0176-CEC."   
  
He continued to repeat the phrase over and over without further order, and the apprehension in his voice quickly dissipated. In fact, the repetition seemed to console him somehow. At least he had something on which to concentrate, and it seemed to stablize him somewhat, at least for the moment.   
  
Momentarily satisfied, Spock turned his attention to their escape. It was clear that the Captain would be of little assistance. Under ordinary circumstances, Spock would simply have carried him over his shoulder, but the broken ribs made that far too risky. He could not cradle-carry him because he would need at least one available hand to help navigate the slick ledges in the outer chambers.   
  
Spock saw no other option. He lifted Kirk off the floor easily to hold him upright against him, his left arm encircling the Captain's waist. Kirk was dead weight against his shoulder. His breathing grew more shallow, but he struggled to continue muttering his name and rank.   
  
"...SC-937-0176-CEC..."   
  
"Hold on to me, Jim," Spock commanded in a voice that seemed to penetrate the Captain's concentration. Kirk's arm tightened around the Vulcan, and he clutched the shoulder of Spock's shirt in his other hand as if his life depended on it. And perhaps it did. His recitation, however, did not miss a beat."   
  
Spock felt for his phaser, then turned for the cavern entrance. The sight of Kor standing in the open doorway brought him quickly to a halt. The Klingon's disrupter was leveled at the Captain's back. Spock briefly wondered how he had not heard the Commander's approach.   
  
Kor grinned smoothly. "What a truly pleasant surprise."   
  



	15. Chapter 14

DEGUELLO - Chapter 14  
by Trish Bennett   
  
McCoy's patience was beginning to wear thin. He paced the floor of the bridge in exasperation, muttering softly to himself. Finally he moved to Mr. Scott, who was seated rather uncomfortably in the command chair.   
  
"Where the hell are they, Scotty?" he demanded, knowing full well that the Scotsman had no more information than he did.   
  
"I don't know, Doctor," Scott replied, his brogue a bit heavier than usual. "We canna do anything but wait."   
  
McCoy shook his head in aggravation. "Damn fool Vulcan!" he cursed, then began to pace again. "I knew he shouldn't have gone down there alone."   
  
Scott's eyes did not leave the viewscreen. "Aye, Doctor," he said, unmoving. "But if anyone can bring the Captain and his party back, it's Mr. Spock. We'll just have to be ready for them."   
  
McCoy stopped pacing and glared at the Engineer, unsure whether the comment was a reprimand or merely a statement of fact. He decided upon the latter and resumed his pacing.   
  
Scotty was right, he assured himself silently. Spock would bring them home. If anyone could.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The Klingon's expression was mockingly hospitable. "It's been a long time, Spock."   
  
"Apparently not long enough, Commander," Spock replied. "I suggest you step aside and allow us safe passage."   
  
Kor broke into a delighted laugh. "I believe that constant exposure to our good Captain has had an effect on you, Vulcan. What could possibly make me do such a noble thing?"   
  
Spock had neither the time nor the desire to continue this conversation. He raised his phaser in reply.   
  
"You're going to kill me? Oh, I am trembling in anticipation."   
  
"I shall not waste time with you, Kor," Spock said firmly. "Surely you can see that your situation is futile. Your ship is destroyed, and the Federation..."   
  
"The Federation..." Kor interjected, "is undoubtedly preparing for war. As well they should, for the events of the past few days have only proven what all of us already suspected. The Organian Peace Treaty is a farce. And my people are quite anxious to be at war again. We thrive on it, in more ways than you can possibly imagine."   
  
"You did all of this merely to test the treaty?"   
  
"Mostly," Kor admitted. "but I also found it...extremely gratifying."   
  
Kor lowered his disrupter and spread his hands in a display of concession.   
  
"What happens here is no longer of any importance. Kill me...if you can. It is the only way you will leave this place alive."   
  
Spock stood motionless, the human still pressed tightly against him. The phaser, however, did not waver.   
  
"You can't do it, can you?" Kor taunted. "You cannot bring yourself to murder me in cold blood, not even to save your precious Captain's life. I'm afraid you're confusing virtue with stupidity."   
  
Spock stared at the Klingon intently. He had risked his career, indeed his very life to come here, and the Commander was the only obstacle to his success. A gentle squeeze of his index finger would end the stand-off. Checkmate. End of game.   
  
Spock slowly lowered his weapon and allowed it to slip from his fingers. It clattered noisily against the stone floor.   
  
Kor's oily smile returned. "I fear your morality has been your undoing, Spock," he said, raising his disrupter again to level it at the Captain's back. "But I trust that, even in death, you will fail to recognize it."   
  
Spock straightened his spine and braced himself for the disrupter blast. The Klingon's finger pulled back against the trigger...   
  
But suddenly Kor screamed as the white-hot disrupter fell from his burning hand. Almost instantaneously the cavern was filled with an intense white light, so blindingly brilliant that even Spock was forced to shield his eyes.   
  
When he was finally able to open them, he noted the Klingon's expression had transformed to one of bitter contempt.   
  
"Ayelbourne," Spock said softly, acknowledging the kindly robed figure that now stood between them.   
  
"You!" Kor growled with hatred. "You have no right to interfere! This is none of your concern."   
  
"You have made it my concern, Commander," he replied simply.   
  
"No," Kor insisted angrily. "The Klingon fleet is on its way. They may be overhead as we speak. You cannot stop this, Organian. The Klingon offensive has already begun."   
  
"No, Commander, it has not," Ayelboure replied. "Your entire military fleet has been immobilized, and will remain so until an appropriate penalty has been determined."   
  
"That is impossible," Kor growled defiantly, but he certainly knew as well as Spock that, with the Organians, it was entirely possible.   
  
Ayelbourne studied the Klingon intently. "You will return to your Empire, Commander. Let it be known that the Organian Peace Treaty is still very much in force, and that we are...displeased by this blatant violation."   
  
Kor opened his mouth to speak but promptly disappeared in a flash of light at the wave of the Organian's hand. Spock stared at the vacant space a moment before looking back into Ayelbourne's bearded face.   
  
"Your concern for this one runs deep, Mr. Spock," the Organian said at last.   
  
Spock glanced at the human against him. Kirk was still reciting his name and rank, oblivious to his surroundings.   
  
"Admittedly," Spock said finally. "Your assistance is deeply appreciated, Ayelbourne. But I must confess, it is somewhat unexpected."   
  
"You wanted to kill the Klingon Commander."   
  
Spock breathed deeply before responding. "Yes."   
  
"Yet you did not. I must confess, I found that somewhat unexpected."   
  
Spock remained silent. Honestly, he could think of nothing to say.   
  
"Quite frankly," the Organian continued, "it is of no concern to us if your races wish to destroy each other, as long as we are not a party to it. But we could not allow this carnage to continue merely as a test of our convictions."   
  
Spock gazed at him solemnly. "I do not know that I can adequately express our gratitude."   
  
The Organian offered him a gentle smile.   
  
"Keep the peace, Mr. Spock. That will be quite sufficient. I have told you before that, one day, the Klingons and your Federation will become fast friends. But such an alliance cannot be imposed. It must be cultivated and nurtured...and it will not come without sacrifice. Only through a unified effort toward that goal will you be able to achieve it."   
  
Spock nodded his understanding. Ayelbourne suddenly appeared restless.   
  
"I will now take my leave of you. I find this intervention most distasteful. However, I will see you safely back to your ship."   
  
Spock raised his free hand to form a "V" with his fingers. "Live long and prosper, Ayelbourne."   
  
A small smile lit the Organian's face. "A noble sentiment," he replied, then he, too, raised his hand in the salute. "Live long and prosper, Mr. Spock."   
  
Again the Vulcan was forced to shield his eyes against the blinding light. When he finally reopened them, he was standing on the bridge of the Enterprise, the Captain still cradled snugly against his shoulder.   
  
The flurry of voices and activity that accompanied their arrival reminded Spock of an expression of which the Captain was fond. All hell's broken loose. However, it was a fleeting thought.   
  
McCoy was at his side in an instant. "Dear Lord!" he exclaimed as he waved his portable scanner over Kirk. "Spock, there's no time! Can you get him to Sickbay?"   
  
Spock had begun to move even before McCoy had finished the sentence. He swept Kirk up in his arms and headed for the turbolift. The Doctor was on his heels.   
  
"Uhura," McCoy called as the lift doors opened to admit them. "Call Christine. Tell her we're on the way!"   
  
It took only a few brief seconds before the turbolift decanted them on Deck Seven near Sickbay. Spock broke into a full run as the doors opened, steadfastly ignoring the inquisitive eyes of the the crewmembers lining the corridor. The medical team was poised for action and scurried quickly to duty as he cleared the Sickbay doors.   
  
McCoy lead them to the examination table and attempted to help Spock lay the Captain back. But Kirk suddenly began to struggle with a force that surprised even Spock, and he clung to the Vulcan with all the strength he could muster.   
  
Christine Chapel quickly provided a hypospray, and a moment later Kirk collapsed, the blue shirt still clutched tightly in his fist.   
  
"By all rights, this man should be dead," McCoy muttered as he pried Kirk's fingers off the Vulcan's uniform. When he looked down into the Captain's pale face, he realized that Kirk had been staring at him.   
  
Recognition finally dawned in the hazel eyes. A faint whisper escaped his lips. "...Bones?"   
  
"Yes, Jim. It's all right. Just lie still."   
  
Spock stood his ground for several moments before finally deciding that the Captain was in good hands. He turned on his heel and headed for the exit.   
  
The corridor was still lined with people, but they quickly dispersed at the sight of him. The Captain, he thought, would be furious...if he had even been cognizant enough to notice. And if Spock knew his Captain, he noticed.   
  
Oddly enough, Spock found himself hoping that he would hear about it later.   
  



	16. Chapter 15

DEGUELLO - Chapter 15  
by Trish Bennett   
  
All eyes focused on Spock as he stepped onto the bridge of the Enterprise. Scott rose quickly to relinquish the command chair.   
  
"Status report, Mr. Scott," Spock said, moving to stand beside the empty chair.   
  
"We're still on Yellow Alert, Mr. Spock," he replied. "And we are now safely outside the Neutral Zone. Sensors show no unusual activity in the sector." He seemed to hesitate briefly before continuing. "Er...Admiral Fitzpatrick has been hailing us, Sir."   
  
"Hailing?" Spock repeated. "Have you attempted to respond?"   
  
"Um..." Scott mumbled, his eyes quickly darting to Sulu, then Uhura, then back to Spock. "No, Sir."   
  
The Vulcan stared at him a long moment, his expression unchanging. At last he arched an eyebrow and moved to seat himself in the command chair.   
  
"Is the Admiral still signaling, Lieutenant?" he asked Uhura over his shoulder.   
  
"Yes, Sir."   
  
Spock squared his shoulders and said almost casually, "On screen, Lieutenant."   
  
She exchanged a relieved glance with Scott before complying with his request. Almost immediately, the Admiral's reddened face filled the viewscreen.   
  
"This is the Enterprise," Spock said. "Commander Spock here, Admiral."   
  
Fitzpatrick exhaled loudly, appearing enormously relieved. "Thank God! I was afraid something had happened to you, Commander. We have reports that the entire Klingon fleet has been mysteriously immobilized. Can you confirm?"   
  
"That is my understanding, Admiral."   
  
"What is your status, Mr. Spock?"   
  
Spock glanced quickly toward the Engineer. Scott offered him a shrug and shook his head slightly.   
  
"The Enterprise appears to be unaffected, Sir," Spock replied. "Captain Kirk is back aboard the Enterprise. The rest of the landing party was lost."   
  
The Admiral's face was grim. "What is Kirk's condition?"   
  
"Unknown at present, Admiral. Doctor McCoy is with him."   
  
"Your opinion, Spock," the Admiral insisted. "Is he going to make it?"   
  
Spock calmly considered his reply. "I...do not know, Sir."   
  
The bridge crew seemed to shift uncomfortably in their seats at the response.   
  
"I see." Fitzpatrick was silent a moment. "Mr. Spock, I want you to divert to Starbase Eleven immediately. Your crew can take shore leave here. I must admit, Commander, I'll..."   
  
His voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn to the Vulcan's uniform. Spock glanced down and realized that his blue shirt was streaked red with the Captain's blood.   
  
"You went in after him, didn't you?"   
  
Spock did not hesitate with his reply. "Affirmative."   
  
The white-haired Admiral was clearly furious. "I believe you and I need to have a talk, Mr. Spock," he said firmly. "You will proceed directly to Starbase Eleven without delay, and you will not vary from that course. Do you think you can follow these instructions, Commander, or should I be having this conversation with Mr. Scott?"   
  
Chekov moved quickly at his navigational controls. With his head bowed, he announced under his breath, "Course plotted and laid in, Sir."   
  
"Course already plotted, Admiral," Spock responded. "We shall proceed at warp factor four."   
  
"See that you do, Commander. I'll be waiting. Fitzpatrick out."   
  
Spock continued to stare into the darkened viewscreen for several moments before saying, "Warp factor four, Mr. Sulu."   
  
"Warp four. Aye, Sir."   
  
Montgomery Scott, who had been observing the conversation in silence, sighed heavily and leaned himself back against the rail to the upper deck.   
  
"Now the haggis is really in the fire for sure, Mr. Spock."   
  
Spock turned his steady gaze on the Scotsman. "If by that you mean the Admiral is displeased, I would have to agree." He rose smoothly from the command chair. "However, since we can do nothing to rectify that situation at present, I will return the bridge to your capable hands. If you require anything, I shall be in my quarters."   
  
Scott offered him an amused grin, shaking his head in what appeared to be amusement. "Mr. Spock, you have got to be the smoothest man I have ever known."   
  
Spock's customary eyebrow was at the ready, rising quickly into his hairline. "I shall take that as a compliment, Mr. Scott," he said, heading for the turbolift. "The bridge is yours."   
  
Spock ignored the amusement in the Engineer's face as the doors closed swiftly behind him.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Spock's stride betrayed no hint of unrest as he moved through the corridors of the Enterprise. He had retired to the sanctuary of his quarters to change his uniform and attempted to meditate for a time. His concentration was somewhat lacking, however, and he soon found himself approaching the doors to Sickbay.   
  
Spock found the Doctor in his office, seated at his desk, his face buried in his hands.   
  
"Am I disturbing you, Doctor?" Spock asked from the open doorway.   
  
"I don't think anything could disturb me anymore, Spock," he said at last. Then, as if reading the Vulcan's confusion, he added, "No, you're not. Come on in."   
  
Spock hesitated only briefly before moving to accept the chair McCoy had offered. "What is the Captain's condition?"   
  
"I don't know," McCoy replied, rubbing his eyes. "I thought maybe you could tell me."   
  
"I no longer sense anything from him, Doctor."   
  
McCoy offered him a grim smile. "I was joking, Spock." He sighed again. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like it. What the hell happened out there?"   
  
Spock opened his mouth to speak, but McCoy cut him off quickly with a wave of his hand.   
  
"On second thought, I don't think I want to know."   
  
Spock waited patiently. The Doctor would get around to answering his question eventually.   
  
"He's stable right now," McCoy said finally. "He's lost a lot of blood. He had massive internal injuries...three broken ribs...severe dehydration...he's on the verge of pneumonia..." The Doctor's voice trailed off. "Shall I go on?"   
  
"He mentioned paralysis in his legs," Spock offered.   
  
McCoy stared at him, as if considering the possibility. "Well, that doesn't really surprise me," he said at last. "There was a lot of swelling around the contusions in his lower back. If the swelling is putting pressure on his spinal cord, that could cause paralysis. I'll check it out, but frankly, I think that's the least of his worries at the moment."   
  
Spock nodded. "May I see him?"   
  
McCoy shrugged. "For all the good it will do. He's been unconscious damn near since he got here." He suddenly seemed rather curious. "Which reminds me...kind of a dramatic entrance, wasn't it?"   
  
Spock's eyebrow rose ever so slightly. "Perhaps...but effective. The Organian, Ayelbourne, was responsible for our deliverance."   
  
"That's not all. The bodies of two members of the landing party were delivered to my autopsy room. I assume there were no remains of the third."   
  
"A logical assumption," Spock agreed.   
  
McCoy allowed another smile to cross his lips. "Tidy, aren't they?"   
  
Spock had to concur. "Indeed. Most efficient."   
  
He rose ever gracefully from the chair and headed toward the door into the inner Sickbay alcove. McCoy stopped him just as the doors slid open.   
  
"Spock..." he said. "I seem to have gotten into the habit of saying this to you lately, but I don't see the harm in saying it again. Thank you."   
  
Spock turned to face him. "You're welcome, I believe, is the correct response, Doctor, but I fear your gratitude is misdirected. It is the Organian who deserves your thanks."   
  
McCoy merely chuckled. "Well, at least something's back to normal."   
  
Spock treated him with the most smug look of Vulcan bewilderment he could manage before turning again to stride through the doors to Sickbay.   
  



	17. Chapter 16

DEGUELLO - Chapter 16  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Spock sat alone in his darkened quarters wrapped in his black meditation robe. The concentration required for effective meditation continued to elude him, though he was unsure why. The Vulcan reached for his harp.   
  
Without hesitation, his fingers began to glide gracefully over the strings. It was a soothing melody, a string movement from an ancient Vulcan concerto which he had memorized as a child. He had always found this particular piece of music could clear his mind nearly as effectively as deep meditation.   
  
Spock closed his eyes and allowed himself to empty his mind of the events of the past several days. In a few moments, the music had successfully entered his soul. The harp was no longer an instrument. It was part of him, and he of it. They had combined to speak through the voice of the strings, and he began to feel his restlessness slip slowly into oblivion.   
  
A full day had passed since the Captain's rescue, but his recovery was still very much in question. That fact alone could be the major source of Spock's unrest. The Vulcan had been reviewing the facts constantly in his mind since the onset of this crisis. Was there something he could have done to prevent it?   
  
Spock believed he was personally responsible for the Captain's abduction. He should not have allowed Kirk to go anywhere without surveying the situation himself first. It was not a matter of conscience. It was a matter of duty.   
  
One of the primary duties of a First Officer was to insure the safety of the Captain. Unfortunately, James Kirk had an unrivaled ability to become entangled in dangerous situations. In fact, he seemed to attract them like a magnetic energy field.   
  
If Spock had his way, Kirk would never leave the confines of his ship. That, in itself, would simplify the Vulcan's job immensely. But the Captain had made it clear from the beginning that he had no intention of ordering his crew into any situation he would not gladly enter into himself. And since that time, there had only been very few occasions when someone had left the Enterprise without the Captain leading the way.   
  
Initially, the two of them had debated over the wisdom of this philosophy. Spock had lost the argument. He found on that occasion, and many times since then, that once Kirk had made up his mind, nothing Spock could say would even begin to sway his convictions. But after this experience, he decided it was time to broach the subject with Kirk again.   
  
With the Captain's unrelenting obstinance in mind, Spock came to realize that nothing he could have done would have prevented this crisis. And once involved, the most he could possibly hope to achieve was the Captain's safe return to the Enterprise. He had accomplished that goal. He had followed a logical course of action and had fulfilled a First Officer's primary duty. And at last, he could allow himself to be satisfied with that.   
  
The communication buzzer was a rude intrusion to this serenity. He opened his eyes to stare at it a moment before reluctantly placing the harp back on its stand. Spock strode to his desk and flipped the switch.   
  
"Spock here," he said.   
  
"Spock, I need you!" It was McCoy's voice, and he sounded almost frantic. "Get down here!"   
  
The Vulcan barely heard the, "Hurry!" on his way through the doors.   
  
When he arrived in Sickbay, McCoy and Nurse Chapel were struggling to keep the Captain in his bed. Kirk was fighting fiercely against the restraints that McCoy had attempted to use.   
  
Kirk's voice was hoarse and dry as he repeatedly cried the Vulcan's name. Spock stood motionless in the doorway. He was not at all prepared for this.   
  
"Doctor McCoy..." he said at last.   
  
"It's about time!" the Doctor snapped, still struggling with his reluctant patient. "Get over here!"   
  
Spock immediately obliged, his eyes fixed upon the Captain.   
  
"He's been calling for you," McCoy explained quickly. "I can't keep him still, but I'm half afraid to give him anything."   
  
Spock felt an uneasy sensation in his stomach, a tight, clenching feeling that he had not experienced before. Suddenly he was filled with hesitation.   
  
He had seen the Captain in various emotional states many times before. In love and in rage. In joy and in grief. In various levels of pain, both physical and emotional. But never quite like this. He looked up into McCoy's probing eyes.   
  
"Just talk to him," the Doctor said urgently. "It's worth a try."   
  
Spock squared his shoulders and inhaled deeply before he said, "Captain Kirk."   
  
McCoy and Chapel stepped back as Spock moved toward the bed. Kirk was thrashing, as if in the throes of a nightmare. His eyes were closed, and he was fighting the black restraining strap that was still wrapped loosely around his wrist. He was still muttering the Vulcan's name.   
  
Spock reached down with slender fingers to remove the strap, the apparent source of the Captain's irritation.   
  
"Jim," he said softly. "I am here."   
  
Kirk seemed to settle down almost immediately at the sound of Spock's voice. He opened his eyes to search vacant air before finally focusing on the Vulcan's face.   
  
His voice was a breathless whisper. "Spock..."   
  
"Yes, Captain."   
  
"Spock, I have to tell you..." Kirk was breathing heavily now, making it difficult for him to speak. "...have to warn you..."   
  
Spock looked up at the Doctor. McCoy could only offer him a helpless shrug.   
  
"Warn me, Captain?"   
  
"Don't let him do it, Spock...don't let him...don't let him have her..."   
  
Spock's eyes narrowed. The tightness in his stomach had not improved. "Captain, I don't understand..."   
  
Kirk's hand reached up to grasp at the sleeve of the Vulcan's black robe. Spock leaned closer obligingly. The Captain's eyelids fluttered shut, then open again.   
  
"Don't let him take my ship...he wants her...he wants the Enterprise..."   
  
Spock finally began to understand the course of Kirk's delirium, but he was unsure what he could say to ease the Captain's mind.   
  
"Jim, you are aboard the Enterprise," he assured him. "The ship is safe."   
  
"No..." Kirk whispered urgently. "No, it's not...don't let your guard down...you have to...get away from here..."   
  
"Captain, listen to me." Spock's voice was stern. "The ship is safe. We are en route to Starbase Eleven. The Enterprise is in no danger."   
  
"...promise me, Spock..." It was clear that his assurances were having little effect. "...don't let him have my ship...promise me..."   
  
Spock looked back at McCoy. The Doctor's eyes silently urged him on. He leaned closer, making certain that Kirk was seeing him before he spoke again.   
  
"Captain, I give you my word. No harm will come to the Enterprise."   
  
Kirk stared at him silently for several moments, the only sound in the room his unsteady breathing. Finally even that seemed to calm itself, and Kirk finally allowed himself to relax. He smiled weakly, gave Spock a feeble nod, and closed his eyes once more. He appeared to drift peacefully to sleep.   
  
Spock continued to stare at him, unmoving, before finally backing away from the bed. He looked into McCoy's haggard face.   
  
"Remarkable," McCoy said approvingly. "Ever thought of joining the medical profession?"   
  
Spock remained silent. The Doctor sighed heavily.   
  
"I'm sorry, Spock. I know how hard this is for you."   
  
Spock raised the traditional eyebrow. "In what way, Doctor?"   
  
McCoy's combative reflexes seemed to have been exhausted. In a situation which would normally spark an argument, McCoy was displaying a look of unmasked compassion. Unfortunately, it did nothing to improve the clenching in Spock's stomach.   
  
"Don't shut me out, Spock," he said quietly. "Not now. I want to help, if I can."   
  
Spock glanced quickly around and realized that Nurse Chapel had gone. He did not remember her departure, but he was grateful for it.   
  
"I do not require your assistance, Doctor. I am fine."   
  
McCoy shook his head. "Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Spock, I know that Vulcans have the same emotions that we humans do. All Vulcans, Spock, not just you. Why do you insist on hiding them?"   
  
This was not a conversation Spock wished to indulge in. "We do not hide them, Doctor. We control them. There is a difference."   
  
"Are you getting defensive?"   
  
"I am making a statement."   
  
McCoy rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. "I'm not trying to pick a fight with you, Spock. I'm just saying that, where emotions exist, there is a need for an occasional emotional release. There's nothing wrong with that."   
  
Spock gazed at him levelly. "Doctor, you have an unfortunate tendency to judge the universe by human standards. Humans feel the need to display their emotions because that is what they are bred to do. So much, in fact, that the suppression of emotion in human beings can be dangerous, both mentally and physically."   
  
McCoy offered him a sly grin. "So you have been listening to my lectures all this time."   
  
"It is difficult to avoid them. But what you refuse to understand is that Vulcans are bred to control their emotions. Therefore, the opposite is true."   
  
"But you're half human."   
  
"Yes," Spock replied, "as you are so fond of reminding me. But I am a Vulcan in body. A Vulcan in mind. And, therefore, a Vulcan in discipline. The human factor, although a minor inconvenience at times, does not apply."   
  
McCoy studied him solemnly. "Is that an assurance to me or yourself?"   
  
Spock allowed himself an audible sigh. "I am what I am, Doctor. I make no apologies for it...to anyone."   
  
The Doctor seemed appeased by the response. He looked down at the motionless Captain in the bed between them before looking back at Spock.   
  
"I think he'll be all right for now," he said finally. "Why don't you go...relax a bit."   
  
Spock squared his shoulders once again. "With your permission, I will stay for a while."   
  
The Doctor shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll be in my office. If you need me, just yell."   
  
Spock opened his mouth to offer a smug remark but thought better of it. "I shall do so," he replied simply.   
  
He watched McCoy amble off toward his office and felt an odd sense of relief as the Doctor disappeared through the doors. Spock watched after him for several moments before finally moving to ease himself into the chair at the Captain's bedside.   
  
He studied the sleeping human in silence and was suddenly reminded of a remark McCoy had made earlier in the day. He's not out of the woods yet. It was a quaint metaphor which McCoy had been known to use for such an occasion, but its meaning was uncomfortably clear. There was still no assurance that the Captain would survive.   
  
And if he did not...Spock was forced to consider that possibility.   
  
His relationship with James Kirk had been a rocky one, at best, in the beginning. Spock had grown accustomed to Christopher Pike...his steadiness, his experience, his wisdom. When Kirk first assumed command of the Enterprise, there was a sizeable difference.   
  
He was young, younger than any Starship commander. He was relatively inexperienced compared to Christopher Pike. He was arrogant...cocky, if Spock understood the meaning of the word. And those were human characteristics which Spock found mildly offensive.   
  
As time went by, however, the Vulcan had come to realize that all of those attributes combined to make Kirk the most effective commander that he had ever known. Spock grew to respect him, though many times he did not agree with him. And Kirk, he believed, had come to understand him better than anyone else in the universe.   
  
Lieutenant Uhura had told him once that Kirk was the closest thing he had to a friend. Though he had dismissed the comment at the time, she had been correct. James Kirk was, indeed, his friend, something he had never really had before.   
  
A successor could be found to assume command of the Enterprise, if not an equal replacement. But if Kirk were to die, that friendship would die with him. And Spock would mourn that loss for the rest of his life. There could be no replacement for that, not even a successor. Spock knew with certainty that he would never share that relationship with anyone again.   
  
Spock began to consider the possibility of resigning his commission with Starfleet. It would be difficult for him to continue to serve on a ship full of humans after the loss of this particular one.   
  
Would that be considered a concession that he did, indeed, react to his emotions despite his constant assurances to the contrary? Perhaps. But perhaps it no longer mattered.   
  
They were scheduled to arrive at Starbase Eleven in less than a day. Considering Admiral Fitzpatrick's state of mind during their last conversation, the decision might well be made for him.   
  
He decided at that moment that, no matter what the Admiral's decision, he would not attempt to fight it. If Kirk should die, it would make little difference to Spock if he were court martialed. And if he should live, he would have quite enough on his mind without the added burden of a battle with Starfleet Command.   
  
Spock rose from his chair and gazed into the Captain's sleeping face.   
  
"Rest well, my friend," he whispered. Then, without a backward glance, he strode through the doors into the corridor.   
  



	18. Chapter 17

DEGUELLO - Chapter 17  
by Trish Bennett   
  
James Kirk was not sure what he expected to see when he opened his eyes, but the ceiling of Sickbay was definitely not it.   
  
He had vague recollections of Spock, McCoy, and the familiar smells and sounds of his ship, but he had dismissed them as hysterical delusions. His mind was still a disoriented fog of voices and images, but he knew with certainty that this was real. He was home. It was finally over.   
  
The realization was an exhilarating experience. But even that was quickly replaced by nagging questions and doubts. How could he have possibly escaped a situation in which even he had given up hope?   
  
Kirk started to rise, but the action was a bit more demanding than he had expected. He laid back, silently summoning his strength, then attempted the movement again.   
  
"I wouldn't recommend that, Jim," came a voice from the doorway.   
  
Kirk froze for just a moment, then finally pushed himself up to a sitting position. His whole body ached, but at least it was tolerable now. His head was pounding.   
  
He exhaled heavily, only then realizing that he had been holding his breath. He looked at the ship's surgeon who was leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. At that moment, McCoy's haggard face was the most beautiful sight Kirk had ever seen.   
  
"Bones!" he said, relief flooding his voice, but a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness quickly dispelled it. He cringed and began to knead his forehead with stiff fingers. "What the hell did you give me?"   
  
"What do you care?" McCoy replied, finally moving into the room. "It worked, didn't it?"   
  
The Captain's foggy memory was beginning to clear, and a disturbing image hit him with shocking clarity. He looked the Doctor hard in the eye.   
  
"Why didn't you clear the corridor?"   
  
The question was so blunt, so completely out of the blue, that McCoy was taken aback for a moment. He stared incredulously at Kirk.   
  
"Wha...?"   
  
"Dammit, Bones, you know how I feel about that! A good commander doesn't show weakness to his crew." There was genuine anger in his voice as he recalled the inquisitive eyes in the corridor. "The path to Sickbay looked like a cadet review!"   
  
McCoy, who usually ignored the Captain's tirades and allowed them to dissipate on their own, looked as if his own anger was mounting to the point of matching Kirk's head-to-head.   
  
"Whoa, just back up a minute!" His blue eyes flashed as he spoke. "Do you have any idea how close you were to death when you came aboard? I was just a little bit busy! And besides my almost daily job of piecing you back together, I have 430 other people to worry about, too."   
  
Kirk's expression did not waver as McCoy continued, but he privately wondered if the Doctor would stop long enough to take a breath.   
  
"I'm responsible for their morale as much as their cuts and bruises, and I'm telling you there wasn't one member of this crew who wasn't relieved to know that you were even still breathing! So forgive me, Captain, if I don't share in your embarrassment, but if you consider living through something like that to be a weakness, then you are sorely mistaken!"   
  
Kirk's gaze softened slightly. "Are you finished?"   
  
McCoy moved to sit down, as though the outburst had completely drained him. "Yeah, I think so."   
  
"Good." Kirk heaved a sigh and quickly regretted it. His ribs were still tender against the pressure of the bandaging. "I'm sorry, Bones."   
  
They stared at each other silently before Kirk decided to change the subject.   
  
"So, what happened? How did I get here?"   
  
McCoy stared at him in awe. "You remember the people in the corridor, but you don't remember how you got here?" The Doctor shook his head in amazement. "I think I'll leave the explanations to Spock, if it's all the same to you. But I swear, you have more lives than a terran cat."   
  
Kirk looked around. "Where is Spock, anyway?"   
  
"I hope he's sleeping," McCoy replied. "He's spent every off-duty moment for the past two days in here hovering over you...well, as close as a Vulcan can get to hovering..."   
  
"Two days!" Kirk was astounded.   
  
"Don't look at me. All I gave you were a few pain killers." McCoy gazed at the dumbfounded Captain. "You drifted in and out a few times. Don't you remember?"   
  
Kirk closed his eyes to stop the throbbing in his head. It didn't help. "I thought it was a nightmare."   
  
McCoy nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I guess that about sums it up."   
  
Kirk's eyes reopened to gaze into the Doctor's face. "What time is it? Do you think I should say something to the crew?"   
  
McCoy smiled. "I think, if you call the bridge, the rest of the ship will know it in about a minute and a half."   
  
Kirk returned the smile and slid off the edge of the bed. The instant his feet touched the floor, he knew it was a mistake. His knees buckled under him, and he would have fallen if McCoy's reflexes had been a moment slower.   
  
"Dammit, Jim..." McCoy draped Kirk's arm across his own shoulders and half-dragged him to the table by the doors. He eased the Captain down into the chair. "Just because you're awake does not mean that you're recovered. You're going to have to take it easy for a while. I'm a Doctor, not a miracle worker, you know."   
  
Kirk finally allowed himself to breathe. "Reprimand noted, Doctor," he rasped, then eased himself forward and flipped the switch on the table. "Kirk to bridge," he said finally, and was immediately relieved that his voice did not falter.   
  
The cheer he received in reply brought a pleasant smile to his lips. He barely had a chance to open his mouth again before Spock's voice cut through the clamor.   
  
"Spock here, Captain," he replied in his best Vulcan composure.   
  
"Mr. Spock," Kirk continued lightly. "Do I detect a minor slip in my officers' decorum in my absense?"   
  
Almost immediately, the background noise was reduced to a happy murmur. Kirk could only imagine the glare that the Vulcan must have given the bridge crew.   
  
"Only briefly, Captain, I assure you," was his only reply.   
  
"Very well." Kirk breathed as deeply as the bandaging would allow. "Spock, I'd like you to meet me in my quarters in...one hour. I'll expect a full status report."   
  
"Acknowledged."   
  
A chorus of good wishes followed Spock's reply. Kirk glanced up at McCoy.   
  
"The minute and a half starts now," the Doctor said dryly.   
  
Kirk thanked them before closing the circuit, then looked back at the Doctor. McCoy raised an eyebrow in the best imitation of Spock that Kirk had ever seen.   
  
"What?" Kirk said. "No arguments?"   
  
McCoy shook his head. "I'm too tired to fight with you about it. Besides, your quarters are already set up. My portable diagnostic unit has already been installed, and Christine is prepared to check in on you every hour on the hour if that's what it takes to keep you in line."   
  
Kirk rolled his eyes. The Doctor was a step ahead of him, and he was mildly annoyed by that.   
  
"Bones..."   
  
"And if you have a problem with that," McCoy continued, ignoring the interruption, "you can just stay here."   
  
Kirk studied the Doctor's weary face before replying.   
  
"The only problem I have, Doctor...is how to get there."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The wheelchair McCoy had provided him, Kirk decided was actually quite comfortable, though it would have taken a while to master the control panel. Fortunately, since he had no intention of using it, it was an issue he would not have to confront.   
  
It had taken the better part of an hour to convince the Doctor to get some rest. Only after repeated assurances that he would call if he needed anything did McCoy grumpily concede. Kirk was finally left alone, studying his face in the mirror.   
  
He now looked a bit worse for wear since the last time he had enjoyed the privacy of his quarters. The gash in his lip was beginning to heal, as was the one over his eyebrow. But the deep crimson scars only served to highlight his pale features, and the bruise that stretched across his cheekbone radiated a deep blue hue. My God!, he thought. I look like the old American flag!   
  
He almost jumped when the door buzzer sounded, and he quickly glanced at the chronometer. Spock was punctual as ever.   
  
The Captain limped haltingly to his desk, swearing silently, and was finally able to ease himself into his chair. He looked bad enough already without having to appear completely helpless as well. After a futile attempt to cover his wrists with his sleeves, he finally gave up and said loudly, "Come."   
  
The doors slid open to admit his First Officer, then obligingly closed behind him.   
  
"Reporting as ordered, Captain," Spock stated crisply, but even his cool, aloof composure could not entirely mask the relief that shone in his dark eyes.   
  
Kirk decided to play it his way. "Mr. Spock," he said. "Status report."   
  
Spock moved foward as if on cue and handed the Captain the shift reports. He then straightened and clasped his hands firmly behind his back.   
  
"The Klingon battle cruiser destroyed itself to avoid capture," Spock reported. "We were able to ascertain your location, and with Organian intervention were able to retrieve you."   
  
The mention of the Organians came as a definite surprise, but a more pressing question piqued the Captain's curiosity.   
  
"What of Kor?"   
  
"Commander Kor was returned safely to the Empire."   
  
Kirk raised his eyes to study the Vulcan's face. Not a flicker of emotion was apparent as he continued.   
  
"The bodies of the landing party have been recovered. Doctor McCoy postponed the memorial service. He assumed that you would wish to attend."   
  
Kirk's face clouded as he thought of the loss of Lieutenant Foster, and the grisly display of the corpse of Ensign Graham. And Tina...   
  
A raspy "Yes" was all he could muster.   
  
"Admiral Fitzpatrick is standing by at Starbase Eleven awaiting our arrival," Spock continued. "We should arrive in approximately six hours."   
  
Starbase Eleven. That was where this insanity had begun. It seemed somewhat appropriate that it should end there, as well.   
  
"The Admiral must be pleased to know that the Organians are enforcing the treaty." The Captain looked into Spock's face, but what he saw there was enough to shake his conviction. "They are, aren't they?"   
  
"So it would seem."   
  
Kirk's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's not much of an answer, Spock."   
  
"It is the only one I can give, Captain," Spock replied flatly, his eyes focused on the wall somewhere just above Kirk's head.   
  
The Captain knew the look. There was something that Spock was trying very hard not to tell him. And the knowledge sat like a stone weight in the pit of his stomach.   
  
"Mr. Spock..." he said, and the Vulcan met his steady gaze. "Why does Admiral Fitzpatrick want us at Starbase Eleven?"   
  
Spock's eyes did not waver. "I can only assume that the Admiral is displeased with my performance during this crisis."   
  
Kirk continued to stare at him, and only after several seconds did he realize that his mouth was open. He closed it quickly and swallowed hard before he spoke again.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"I...disagreed with the Admiral over the proper course of action."   
  
Kirk sighed heavily, resting his face in one hand to rub his tired eyes. "Spock," he said without looking up. "What exactly did you do?"   
  
Spock shifted on his feet, almost imperceptibly. "According to regulations, I contacted Starfleet Command after our encounter with the Klingon battle cruiser. The Admiral ordered the Enterprise to pursue, but to hold position outside the Neutral Zone and await reinforcements."   
  
The implication of his words was now disturbingly clear. Kirk sighed again. "You took the Enterprise into the Neutral Zone," he muttered in dismay.   
  
"At maximum warp," Spock explained, "the nearest starship was seventy-two hours away. I knew that you were in grave danger and would not survive until reinforcements arrived."   
  
Something in the Vulcan's tone made Kirk shiver slightly. "You knew...?"   
  
Spock shifted again on his feet, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded vaguely uneasy. "I heard...or sensed...you, Captain. I was compelled to disobey the Admiral's order." He finally met Kirk's stunned gaze. "Do not ask me to explain it, Captain. I am not at all certain that I could."   
  
"Spock..." Kirk began, trying to steady his voice. He was not entirely successful. "There was a point back there...when I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to die. But I thought I heard...or sensed...you, urging me to hold on." He forced himself to look into Spock's eyes. "It was you, wasn't it?"   
  
"I cannot say, Captain." Spock's voice was unnervingly quiet.   
  
"If that is the case, Mr. Spock..." Kirk said just as softly. "You saved my life twice."   
  
The tension in the room was unbearable. He and Spock rarely discussed intensely personal issues between them, yet they were closer than family. They had never stopped to examine their friendship. It merely existed. And the bond between them ran deeper than either of them cared to admit.   
  
Kirk could see that the Vulcan was just as uncomfortable as he was, and he decided to change the subject.   
  
"Don't worry, Spock," he said, his voice noticeably stronger now. "I'll speak with the Admiral. I'm sure we can sort this all out."   
  
"Worry is a human emotion, Captain," Spock replied with only the slightest hint of relief.   
  
A smile played on the Captain's lips. "Of course," he said.   
  
Spock breathed deeply. "If there is nothing further, Captain...?"   
  
"No, Mr. Spock. You're dismissed."   
  
"Very well. Good night, Captain." Spock turned and headed for the door.   
  
"Good night, Spock."   
  
Kirk stared intently after his First Officer for what seemed like eons after the doors closed behind him. It wasn't all making sense yet. He needed time to review the Enterprise logs, but for some reason could not bring himself to do it. Not yet.   
  
The shrill whistle of the intercom cut through the silence, and Kirk's heart nearly leapt through his chest. God, you're jumpy tonight!, he thought as he reached out to answer the call. When he flipped the switch, McCoy's image filled the small screen.   
  
"I thought I ordered you to bed, Doctor."   
  
"I make it a rule never to turn in before my patients do." The Doctor sounded tired but happy. "Now get to bed, dammit, so I can get some sleep!"   
  
Kirk grinned wearily. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"   
  
"Immensely. Now, Christine's on her way to give you a hand, and you'd better not give her any grief. You do, and you'll answer to me. Understood?"   
  
"Completely. 'Night, Bones."   
  
McCoy muttered a grumpy "Good night," and the screen went dark.   
  
Christine Chapel arrived right on schedule to help the Captain to bed. He tried not to rely on her steadying force too much, but his stiff, aching muscles made that impossible. He felt like such a fool!   
  
"I haven't been tucked into bed since I was four years old," he told her as she eased his legs up onto the bed and pulled the blanket up over him.   
  
She smiled. "Then I'd say you were overdue."   
  
Kirk rested his weight on one shaky elbow and watched her busy herself with the readings from the diagnostic unit over his head. His anxiety quickly subsided as he watched her performing her duties, and he began to realize how childishly he was behaving. He also realized why McCoy placed so much faith in his head nurse.   
  
Suddenly, Kirk felt very tired.   
  
"If you need anything, just buzz me in Sickbay," she said. "I'll check in on you again later."   
  
Kirk nodded with a faint smile and laid back on the bed. He was asleep nearly before his head hit the pillow.   
  



	19. Chapter 18

DEGUELLO - Chapter 18  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Commander Spock strode through the corridors of Federation Starbase Eleven, a massive station which served as both a docking port and a central command post. He knew the layout of the station from his one previous visit, when Captain Kirk had been brought to court martial for negligence resulting in the apparent death of a crewman.   
  
The situation was fortunately resolved when it was discovered that the crewman had fabricated his own death in an attempt to enact revenge upon the Captain. In this case, however, Spock could foresee no such tidy resolution.   
  
He made his way to the Admiral's office and hesitated only a moment before sounding the buzzer. At the sound of Fitzpatrick's voice, the doors slid aside, and Spock obediently stepped through the opening.   
  
"Commander Spock," he announced. "Reporting as ordered, Admiral."   
  
Fitzpatrick looked at him over the viewscreen he had been studying. He appeared much more calm and controlled than he had been at their last communication. He reached out to switch off the viewer and motioned Spock to a chair across from his desk.   
  
"Have a seat, Commander."   
  
He leaned back in his chair as Spock lowered himself into his own. The Admiral gazed at the Vulcan intently.   
  
"The ship's log has been downloaded to the Station's computers," the Admiral informed him. "I have reviewed them as well as the First Officer's log regarding this incident."   
  
Spock waited in patient silence for the Admiral to come to the point.   
  
"Commander, I'm sure I don't have to tell you how relieved I am that things worked out the way they did. No one was more surprised than I was to find out the Organians actually responded to this emergency." He hesitated briefly. "But Commander, you must also be aware that your actions in the Neutral Zone were somewhat reckless and potentially devastating to Federation security."   
  
Spock knew what the Admiral was leading up to. He had been prepared for it since he made the decision to enter the Neutral Zone. Spock's eyes met Fitzpatrick's without wavering.   
  
"I have decided," the Admiral continued, "to exonerate the crew of the Enterprise for their involvement in this matter. They were following the orders of their superior officer and cannot be held accountable."   
  
Fitzpatrick reached for a switch at the corner of his desk. The doors behind Spock opened almost immediately, and the Vulcan did not need to turn around to know that a Security team had just entered the Admiral's office.   
  
"However..." Fitzpatrick said, "I regret to inform you, Mr. Spock, that you are under arrest. The charges...insubordination, and the willful violation of an established Neutral Zone." He studied the Vulcan's face intently. "Do you wish for me to clarify either of these issues for you, Commander?"   
  
The question was properly phrased according to established Starfleet protocol, but frankly Spock saw little need for it. He rose smoothly to his feet and clasped his hands firmly behind his back as he faced the Admiral at rigid attention.   
  
"No, Admiral," he replied calmly. "I understand them very well."   
  
Spock turned toward the Security men, but the Admiral stopped them before they reached the door.   
  
"Commander..."   
  
Spock turned back to face him.   
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Spock," he said at last. "I have no choice."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"...Jim..."   
  
The voice emanated from the fog ahead of him. His brother was trying to scare him. George Samuel Kirk loved to play tricks on his little brother.   
  
"Sam?" he called out. "Is that you?"   
  
"...Jim..."   
  
He wanted to ignore it, to turn around and go back to the house. But the voice was so persistent.   
  
"Jim!"   
  
He moved closer and peered into the fog. Something caught him by the shoulders...   
  
Kirk's eyes opened. McCoy was shaking him.   
  
"Jim!"   
  
It took several moments for the realization to set it. "Bones?" He looked into the Doctor's weathered face, trying desperately to focus his eyes. "What is it? What's wrong?"   
  
"Listen to me, Jim," McCoy insisted. "Spock's been arrested!"   
  
The urgency in his voice got Kirk's attention more than the actual words. "What?"   
  
McCoy spoke deliberately, accenting every word. "Spock beamed down to meet with the Admiral, and they arrested him!"   
  
Kirk sat up much too fast. Waves of pain shot from his chest to his head, then back again. The room was spinning. He reached blindly for the intercom by his bed, more from memory than sight, and fumbled for the switch.   
  
"Kirk to bridge."   
  
"Bridge," replied the lilting voice. "Lieutenant Uhura here."   
  
"Uhura, get me Admiral Fitzpatrick. Hurry!"   
  
The "Aye, Sir," was barely out of her mouth when he broke the connection and started to his feet.   
  
McCoy started to protest. "Jim, you can't..." he began, but he broke off as Kirk pushed past him and lurched awkwardly toward his desk.   
  
He felt as though his limbs were not his own. The pain shot through his legs up into his spine, and it was all he could do to reach the chair and lower himself into it. His heart was pounding, and he broke into a cold sweat. After a moment, he realized he was trembling.   
  
McCoy was at his side. "Dammit, Jim, you're going to kill yourself if you don't take it easy!"   
  
The Doctor pushed him, chair and all, up behind the desk, then stepped back quickly and ran his scanner through the air around the Captain.   
  
Kirk could not seem to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, placed a hand over his throbbing ribs, and made a concerted effort to breathe. Inhale...exhale...A steady stream of daggers pierced his lungs, but they seemed to grow considerably duller with each breath.   
  
The Doctor stepped back as the intercom sounded, and Kirk attempted to straighten himself in his chair.   
  
"Captain," Uhura said. "I have Admiral Fitzpatrick on screen."   
  
Suddenly the image shifted to the Admiral seated behind his own desk, his hands clasped together before him. His kindly, aging features appeared much more solemn than usual.   
  
Kirk was in no mood for diplomacy, but he rallied to appear calm. "Admiral," he acknowledged succinctly.   
  
Kirk's image seemed to have an immediate impact on the Admiral. His gaze softened, and he let out a low whistle.   
  
"My God, man!" he exclaimed. "You look terrible!"   
  
Not nearly as terrible as I feel, Kirk thought morosely. It was a constant struggle to keep from doubling over.   
  
"I understand my First Officer has been taken into custody."   
  
Even as he said it, Kirk found it hard to believe. What was Fitzpatrick trying to do? Just a few short days ago, Kirk had been a trusted friend and confidante. Now he felt like nothing more than a subordinate...and he began to feel betrayed all over again.   
  
"I'm afraid so, Captain," Fitzpatrick replied. There was just a tinge of regret in his tone.   
  
"Might I ask why?"   
  
"Do I really have to explain it to you, Jim?"   
  
"Yes," Kirk insisted. "I'd appreciate it."   
  
The Admiral nodded in reluctant concession. "All right," he said with a weary sigh. "Commander Spock disobeyed the direct order of a superior officer. He jeopardized Federation security..."   
  
"Admiral, you can't be serious..."   
  
Fitzpatrick eyes flared, and he leaned forward in his chair shoving his face toward the screen.   
  
"Your First Officer willingly took the Enterprise into hostile territory. In doing so, he risked not only his own life, but the lives of his crew as well. Your crew. Not to mention the fact that the violated the Neutral Zone against my direct orders."   
  
The Admiral was breathing hard in anger that he was trying desperately to control.   
  
"I'm going to be perfectly frank with you, Captain," he continued more calmly. "You, personally, have disobeyed more Starfleet orders than I even care to remember, and you always come out of it smelling like a rose. Believe me, I know that's as much my fault as it is yours. I let you get away with it because you are who you are, and dammit, you're the best I've got. But now you've got your crew doing it as well. So what's next? Word travels quickly, Captain, even in space. This behavior will trickle out into the rest of the fleet. I have to draw the line somewhere."   
  
Kirk stared into the Admiral's face and tried to keep himself from trembling. He hoped Fitzpatrick didn't notice.   
  
"You promised me," he said angrily, trying to steady his voice, "that the Enterprise would not be involved in this. I have three dead crewmen, Admiral, and my First Officer is about to be court martialed. What exactly is your definition of not involved?"   
  
The Captain ignored the stunned gaze of the Doctor at his side and kept his eyes trained steadfastly on the viewscreen before him. Fitzpatrick's gaze softened considerably, almost apologetically.   
  
"I promised you that I would do everything within my power to keep the Enterprise out of danger. Things went drastically wrong, but I still tried like hell to keep that promise." He was breathing heavily now, but trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "But I was light years away when it happened. Hell, I threatened Spock with mutiny if he crossed into the Zone, and he did it anyway. If he's not going to follow orders, what more could I have possibly done?"   
  
"You should have known..." Kirk muttered softly. "You should have been ready."   
  
"I know, Jim," Fitzpatrick said earnestly. "And I am sorry. But you have to try to understand this. If it hadn't been for the Organian stepping in, things could have turned out much differently. I can't just let this go."   
  
Kirk was at a loss for words. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.   
  
When Fitzpatrick spoke again, his tone was gentle, even soothing.   
  
"Jim, listen...I don't claim to know what you've been through, although I can imagine. And I really am relieved that you came through it all right. But Commander Spock had no way of knowing what he would find when he went in there. The Enterprise, by herself, could have been destroyed, or worse yet, captured. That would have created an irreparable breach of security."   
  
Kirk remained silent and listened.   
  
"He took a terrible risk by going in to rescue you. Your ship...your crew...the Federation itself were in grave danger."   
  
"He did what he thought he had to do." Kirk's voice was nearly a whisper.   
  
"Believe me, Captain, I know what it's like to be out there, light years away from Starfleet. And when you're in the middle of a confrontation, it seems like the most important thing in the universe at that moment. But I have to look at the big picture, Jim. And I cannot allow the end to justify the means."   
  
Kirk found that he could no longer look into the Admiral's eyes. He focused sullenly on the edge of his desk.   
  
"So what happens now?"   
  
Fitzpatrick exhaled loudly. "Commander Spock has declined a preliminary hearing. Therefore, a panel of jurists is being assembled as we speak. A formal trial will convene in five days to review the details of this case." He paused. "As it stands right now, the only outcome I can see is a general court martial."   
  
Kirk looked back into the Admiral's face. "May I at least speak with him?"   
  
Fitzpatrick exhaled another heavy sigh. "He asked not to be disturbed."   
  
Kirk's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure he would make an exception, Admiral." But once the words were out of his mouth, he was not at all certain that he would.   
  
Fitzpatrick picked up a report cartridge from his desk. "His exact words were, and I quote: There can be no defense for the crime with which I am charged. Therefore, I decline counsel. Furthermore, I decline the right to a preliminary hearing and request that general court martial proceedings be initiated immediately. I prefer not to be disturbed...by anyone...until that time.""   
  
"That's Spock, all right," McCoy muttered under his breath.   
  
The Captain glanced quickly at McCoy, then back to the viewscreen before him. The Admiral now appeared deeply concerned.   
  
"Jim, you really don't look well. Maybe you should see one of our base doctors. No offense to Doctor McCoy, but our medical facilities are much better equipped..."   
  
"I'm satisfied with the care I'm receiving from my own staff," Kirk said firmly.   
  
"I see. Well, if there's anything you need, just let me know. Fair enough?"   
  
"What I need," Kirk said quietly, "is my First Officer."   
  
The Admiral heaved a sigh but otherwise did not acknowledge the request. "Fitzpatrick out."   
  
As soon as the screen went dark, Kirk slammed his fist against the desk in frustration.   
  
"Damn you, Spock!" When he was finally able to calm himself, he looked into McCoy's face. "Bones, they're going to crucify him."   
  
"You son of a bitch," McCoy said quietly. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?"   
  
Kirk looked away from his questioning eyes. "Not exactly this way," he confessed softly. "And not nearly so soon, but...yes. I knew something was going to happen."   
  
"Did Spock know?"   
  
Kirk shook his head.   
  
"Don't you think it would have been nice if you had told him?" McCoy sounded as angry as the Captain felt.   
  
"Yes, Bones, it probably would have," he snapped back. "But I couldn't." He breathed deeply, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts. "Have the senior officers left the ship?"   
  
"No, not yet."   
  
"Good. Tell them I want to see them all here in about an hour. In the meantime, I'll go through the logs. There's got to be some way to get him out of this."   
  
McCoy stared at him solemnly a moment, then leaned forward and rested his palms on the edge of Kirk's desk.   
  
"All right," he agreed. "But just remember something. Spock got himself into this mess in the first place trying to save your life. If you kill yourself trying to defend him, all of this will have been for nothing."   
  
"Why, Doctor..." Kirk said, finally allowing a small smile to cross his lips. "Do I detect a note of sympathy in your voice?"   
  
McCoy straightened indignantly. "Sympathy?" he said gruffly, but his blue eyes flashed with amusement through the grumpy facade. "For Spock?" He turned for the door, muttering just loud enough for the Captain to hear. "You must be joking! The day I start feeling sorry for that green-blooded computer circuit is the day I ought to have my head examined..."   
  
Kirk continued to smile even after the doors had closed behind McCoy.   
  
Some things never change.   
  



	20. Chapter 19

DEGUELLO - Chapter 19  
by Trish Bennett   
  
James Kirk had spent the better part of an hour studying the computer logs from the past several days, but to no avail. If there was something in this mass of information that could save his First Officer, Kirk was having a definite problem finding it.   
  
Unfortunately, the most curious facet of this entire ordeal had not been recorded by any computer. Spock himself was the only person with first-hand knowledge of the Organians' surprising intervention, and when questioned he had been stubbornly evasive.   
  
Kirk had known at the time that Spock was holding something back, but he had been far too preoccupied to force the issue. He realized now that it had been a grave error in judgement.   
  
"Come," he called when the door buzzer sounded, and he reached to snap off the viewscreen before him. He raised his eyes to watch his senior staff file through the doors one by one and position themselves in a row in front of his desk.   
  
McCoy, in a typical display of stubborness, was the only one to avoid the military protocol. He moved to perch himself comfortably on the outside corner of the desk. Kirk ignored him as he spoke.   
  
"I'm sure you're all aware that Mr. Spock has been taken into custody for his actions during the recent crisis."   
  
Suddenly even Kirk was impressed by his own display of calm objectivity. It was hard to believe the past few days could be summed up in a few short, dispassionate words.   
  
"A general court martial is scheduled to convene in five days. Spock has declined a preliminary hearing. He has also declined counsel, although for the life of me, I can't imagine why."   
  
Kirk looked into the faces of his officers one by one. "I've called you all here because I need to find a way to clear Mr. Spock of the charges that have been leveled against him. And to do that, I need to ask each of you for your help."   
  
He received a chorus of affirmative responses, as if they were surprised that he even felt the need to ask. The clamor stopped abruptly, however, when he raised his hand to silence them.   
  
"Before you make a hasty decision, I need you to understand something. What I'm about to ask of you does not fall within your obligations as Starfleet officers."   
  
Montgomery Scott stepped forward without a moment's hesitation. "Captain...you should know us all well enough by now to know that you just have to say the word, and we're with you."   
  
Kirk gazed at him steadily, and suddenly he felt a rush of pride in each of his senior officers. Unfortunately, he did not have time to dwell on it.   
  
"I'm going to Organia."   
  
The statement evoked a startled response from the entire senior staff.   
  
"Jim, you can't go to Organia," McCoy protested. "No one's allowed to go to Organia. It's a stipulation of the treaty."   
  
"I know that, Bones, but I have to try. It may be the only chance Spock has."   
  
"Why?" he persisted. "What's on Organia that could possibly make a difference?"   
  
"I don't know," Kirk confessed softly. "Maybe nothing. But maybe I can find some answers there that I can't get anywhere else."   
  
He finally looked back to the expectant officers before him.   
  
"Mr. Sulu, I need a ship...the fastest one you can find. I don't care what it costs. And I need a pilot to take me there."   
  
"I can get you a ship, Captain," Sulu said without hesitation. "But you already have a pilot. Me."   
  
That was exactly what Kirk had been counting on. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He turned his attention to his Communications officer. "Lieutenant Uhura...I need a special coded channel so that I can stay in touch with the Enterprise. But it has to be something that won't be detected by Station Operations. Can you do it?"   
  
She considered the request briefly. "Yes, Sir," she replied at last. "I can do it."   
  
"Good. Mr. Chekov..." The Russian stepped forward expectantly. "Ensign, I need you down on the Station. Snoop around. There's more going on here than we are aware of, I can feel it. And I want to know what it is."   
  
"Aye aye, Captain."   
  
"Mr. Scott...I'll be leaving you in command of the ship. You'll also be responsible for coordinating the efforts of the others. If there's a problem they come to you, and you...fix it. Understood?"   
  
"Aye, Captain."   
  
"And Bones..."   
  
McCoy looked at him as if he thought his role was obvious. "I'm coming with you."   
  
"No, you're not. You have to stay here and cover for me. If Admiral Fitzpatrick finds out I'm gone, we'll all be joining Spock in the stockade."   
  
"Jim," the Doctor protested. "You are in no condition to be running off halfway across the galaxy..."   
  
"I know that, Doctor," the Captain assured him. "That's why I'm taking a pilot."   
  
McCoy looked as though he wanted to argue the point, but surprisingly he remained silent. Even he must have seen they had very few alternatives.   
  
"All right," Kirk said finally. "Let's get to it. And thank you...all of you."   
  
Each of the officers gave him a nod and a smile of assurance as they filed out of his quarters to begin their assignments. Only Doctor McCoy remained behind.   
  
Kirk gazed at him curiously a moment as the doors slid closed behind the others.   
  
"Something on your mind, Doctor?"   
  
McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned himself comfortably in the doorway.   
  
"I was about to ask you the same thing."   
  
"I thought I just explained that."   
  
The Doctor continued to gaze at him steadily, and it was making the Captain extremely uneasy.   
  
"I'm not talking about Spock," he said.   
  
McCoy was obviously fishing for something, but frankly Kirk was in no mood for it. "Then what are you talking about?"   
  
"You put on a very good show," McCoy said at last. "Calm...confident...issuing orders as though nothing had happened..."   
  
Kirk looked away from the Doctor's probing eyes. "Get to the point, Doctor."   
  
"Jim..."   
  
McCoy finally moved back into the room, and when Kirk looked back into his face, he saw an expression of poorly masked sympathy. He had no idea what the Doctor was leading up to, but Kirk got the distinct impression he was not going to like it.   
  
"I have no idea what really happened out there," McCoy continued finally. "But if the physical results are any indication of the psychological results..."   
  
"Bones, I don't have time for this," Kirk snapped. He was right. He didn't like it. Not at all.   
  
"When will you have the time?" McCoy persisted, finally dropping himself into the chair across from Kirk's desk. "Jim, you've been through a terrible ordeal, but surviving it is only half the battle. You can't just ignore the emotional impact of that experience and expect it to go away, because it won't."   
  
Kirk tried to maintain a calm appearance to hide his flaring temper. "There's nothing to ignore, Bones. It happened, it's over, and I'm fine."   
  
"Nothing's ever that easy," McCoy admonished. "You know better than that."   
  
It was clear the Doctor had no intention of dropping the subject. Kirk was angry now, and made very little effort to hide it.   
  
"Sulu is out there right now trying to find me a ship," he said sternly. "If I know Sulu as well as I think I do, he'll be back within the hour. You want to analyze me, Doctor? Fine. Go right ahead. You have that long...you can play psychiatrist to your heart's content. But when he gets back, you're done. Understood?"   
  
McCoy gazed at him in stubborn silence, which infuriated the Captain even more.   
  
"Go ahead, Doctor," he snapped. "Ask your questions. Satisfy your curiosity."   
  
McCoy remained incredibly patient and calm. "Why are you so angry with me?" he asked quietly.   
  
"Because I don't understand what you want from me," Kirk replied quickly, although once the words were out of his mouth, he was not entirely sure that was true. He breathed deeply. "If there's something you want to know, then ask me. I'll answer you to the best of my ability. I don't know what more I can offer you."   
  
"All right," the Doctor conceded. "Who's Tina?"   
  
Kirk's head snapped up in surprise. "Lieutenant Girard," he replied, his eyes narrowing. "Why?"   
  
"You asked for her a couple of times in Sickbay." McCoy suddenly seemed reluctant to press it, but did anyway. "Do you want to talk about it?"   
  
"No, not particularly."   
  
He finally allowed himself to look back into the Doctor's face, knowing that McCoy would not be satisfied with that response. He was right. Kirk's anger came flooding back as he threw up his hands in concession.   
  
"You want to know about Lieutenant Girard?" he snapped. "Let's see...how can I describe her? She was...beautiful...very feminine, very compassionate, but at the same time, very strong. She was probably one of the bravest people I have ever met."   
  
And suddenly he was no longer in his quarters on the Enterprise grudgingly baring his soul to his Chief Medical Officer. He was back in a cave, deep in the bowels of an alien planet. And when he closed his eyes, he could see her face clearly in his mind. Her tears and her smile. Her fear and her ultimate contentment.   
  
"She was bright and energetic..." Kirk continued gently, and finally allowed himself a small smile. "And she was funny. How she kept her sense of humor through all that is beyond me. And she liked Shakespeare..."   
  
"You were in love with her, weren't you?"   
  
Kirk looked deep into the Doctor's face. at that moment, all his anger and defensiveness were replaced by a genuine sense of relief. It actually felt good to be able to say it out loud.   
  
"I could have been," he confessed. "Very easily. Carol Marcus was the first person I ever really loved...you know what I mean, Bones? After that, I thought I could never love anyone that way again. I may have been wrong."   
  
Kirk shook his head ruefully.   
  
"You know, it's ironic...I lost Carol Marcus because I wanted to command a starship. And Martina Girard lost her life because I got that wish."   
  
McCoy appeared indignant. "Jim, you didn't kill Martina Girard. The Klingons did. You can't blame yourself for that."   
  
"I know," Kirk said softly. "It's just so senseless."   
  
McCoy inhaled deeply before he spoke. "Jim, I think everything happens for a reason. I don't know...maybe some good did come out of all this. Now you know you can love someone that much again."   
  
Kirk looked at him solemnly. "That doesn't make it any easier, Bones."   
  
"It wasn't supposed to."   
  
Kirk and McCoy gazed at each other in silence before the Captain finally allowed himself to smile.   
  
"So, what's the diagnosis, Doc?" he asked. "Did you find what you were looking for?"   
  
"Just the tip of the iceberg," McCoy replied lightly, rising from his chair. "But it's a start. Just do me a favor, Jim. Don't deny your feelings. One Vulcan aboard this ship is quite enough."   
  
Kirk found himself smiling even after the Doctor had gone.   
  



	21. Chapter 20

DEGUELLO - Chapter 20  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Admiral Fitzpatrick had been sitting at his desk for hours it seemed, staring at the report cartridge before him. Even so, he hadn't the vaguest idea what it said.   
  
It had been an incredibly difficult week. And by all indications, it was going to get worse before it got better.   
  
Starfleet had nearly lost one of its most valued commanders, and another high-profile officer now faced court martial proceedings. His crime? An unrelenting devotion to his commanding officer.   
  
This situation was spiraling quickly out of control, and Fitzpatrick had only himself to blame. He had to get a grip on this before it all came crashing down around him.   
  
"Admiral?"   
  
The voice nearly made him jump. Fitzpatrick looked up into the concerned face of his aide, Lieutenant Angela Ferrell.   
  
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't hear you come in."   
  
"Obviously," she replied. "You looked like you were a million light years away." She studied him closely as she moved to seat herself in the chair in front of his desk. "What's wrong? Besides the obvious, I mean..."   
  
The Admiral sighed. How could he possibly narrow it down to a single concern? "I don't know," he said at last. "A lot of things. Jim Kirk, for one."   
  
"I assume he's not taking this very well."   
  
"I have no idea," Fitzpatrick said with a shrug. "I haven't been able to talk to him since Spock's arrest."   
  
"You mean he's avoiding you?" she said, surprised. "That doesn't sound like the Jim Kirk I know."   
  
"McCoy says he's been extremely agitated since he heard about the court martial, and that it's affecting his recovery. He says he has Kirk under sedation."   
  
Ferrell arched a suspicious eyebrow. "For two days?"   
  
"You don't believe it either?"   
  
Ferrell shrugged. "I think you're forgetting your own first rule when dealing with Captain Kirk. If it doesn't feel quite right, odds are it probably isn't."   
  
"I know," the Admiral confessed, rubbing his tired eyes. "But what could he be doing aboard the Enterprise that he wouldn't want me to..." His voice trailed off as a thought struck him, and he looked his aide in the eye. "Unless he's not aboard the Enterprise."   
  
"He couldn't be on the station," she said. "Let's face it...he doesn't exactly blend into a crowd."   
  
Fitzpatrick tried to ignore the clenching in his chest as he reached to adjust his computer monitor. "Computer," he said.   
  
"Working," came the flat, feminine monotone.   
  
"Give me a listing of every departure from this station over the past forty-eight hours. I also want the detailed flight plans of each vessel."   
  
The computer whirred and clicked as it complied with his request.   
  
"You don't think he left?" Ferrell said with mild disbelief. "Where would he go?"   
  
"Completed," the computer announced. Fitzpatrick ignored his aide's question as he studied the viewscreen.   
  
"The Dhamad'Ri..." he muttered finally, then glanced up at the Lieutenant across the desk. "Isn't that the Andorian merchant ship?"   
  
She nodded quickly.   
  
"I just saw the Andorian Captain in the lounge last night," Fitzpatrick said.   
  
"So?"   
  
"According to the logs, his ship left here a day and a half ago." Fitzpatrick's mind was racing. What the hell did Kirk think he was doing?   
  
"Do you want me to contact the Enterprise?" Ferrell offered.   
  
"No," the Admiral replied thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. "I have a better idea..."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Leonard McCoy entered the turbolift at Deck Seven and reached immediately for the hand control. "Bridge," he muttered, bracing himself as the lift began its smooth ascent to the Enterprise's command center.   
  
The Captain had been right about his helmsman. Sulu had managed to acquire a ship in record time for their clandestine voyage to Organia. That was one of the advantages, McCoy decided, of being stuck at a Federation starbase. There was never a shortage of scouts and traders eager to turn a quick credit.   
  
But that was more than a day ago, and Kirk was still hours away from his destination. And unfortunately, time was the one thing McCoy was quickly running out of.   
  
The turbolift doors opened onto the bridge, and the Doctor stepped onto the deck. At first glance, it appeared to be business as usual. The crew were at their stations, keeping themselves busy with their assigned tasks.   
  
But upon closer examination, he realized that was exactly all they were doing...keeping themselves busy. Better to run routine diagnostics and perform minor system adjustments than sit idly by and dwell on the current predicament.   
McCoy moved down the step to the center of the bridge where Montgomery Scott was seated in the command chair. The Scotsman looked up from the report cartridge in his hand with an expression of weary concern.   
  
"I don't think I can put Fitzpatrick off much longer," the Doctor said without amenity. "He's been wanting to talk to Jim all day."   
  
"What did you tell him?"   
  
"That I had him sedated," McCoy said ruefully. "But I know if I tell him that one more time, he'll have my medical license revoked."   
  
Scott offered him a helpless shrug. "You just have to stall him as long as you can, Doctor. I don't know what else we can do."   
  
"That's easy for you to say. I'm surprised he hasn't decided to come aboard yet."   
  
"Captain Kirk will be at Organia by morning," Scott said reassuringly. "Then..."   
  
"Then what?" McCoy snapped. "You know, Scotty, he's expecting to find some kind of miracle solution to this mess by going to Organia, but I honestly don't know what he expects to find. I mean, if he's allowed anywhere near the planet, and if the Organians will even talk to him once he's there, and if they do have some earth-shattering piece of information that might save Spock from the gallows, there's still no guarantee that Starfleet will even listen to it, much less care."   
  
Scott had no time to respond to the Doctor's tirade. At that moment, the turbolift doors opened, and Pavel Chekov rushed through them onto the bridge. He appeared agitated and out of breath, but calmed himself enough to finally speak.   
  
"Mr. Scott," he said, his thick Russian accent even more pronounced than usual. "We have to contact the Captain!"   
  
Scott rose from the command chair swiftly as McCoy stepped around him in alarm.   
  
"Chekov, what is it?" McCoy asked. "What's wrong?"   
  
"Mr. Spock's trial..." he spouted, trying valiantly to catch his breath. "They were waiting for Captain Martinez to make up the members of the court...but he made it ahead of schedule. He's here...and the trial has been moved up. It's tomorrow morning, Sir. 0900 hours."   
  
McCoy turned to Scott. "That must be why the Admiral's been wanting to talk to Jim. He wants to break the news himself."   
  
Scott hesitated only a moment before moving up the step to Uhura's console. "Lieutenant Uhura," he said. "Hail the Captain."   
  
"Yes, Mr. Scott." Her slender fingers scrambled at the controls.   
  
"Enterprise to Captain Kirk," she said. "Enterprise to Captain Kirk. Come in, please."   
  
Scott leaned closer to Uhura. "Are you sure Station Operations won't detect this?"   
  
Uhura offered him an impish grin. "Not in this lifetime, Mr. Scott," she purred. "I guarantee it."   
  
Scott exchanged an amused glance with McCoy before the Captain's voice filtered through the speaker.   
  
"Kirk here. Go ahead, Enterprise."   
  
"Scott here, Captain. We have a problem."   
  
The Captain's voice was apprehensive. "What is it?"   
  
"Sir, the trial date has been changed," Scott reported. "It's tomorrow morning. 0900 hours."   
  
"What?" Kirk's voice was nearly a whisper.   
  
"Jim," McCoy said, "Admiral Fitzpatrick's been chomping at the bit to talk to you all day. That's got to be what it's about."   
  
"Damn!" McCoy could almost hear the wheels turning in the Captain's mind. "Uhura, are you there?"   
  
"Yes, Sir," she said.   
  
"Can you patch me through to the Admiral's office?"   
  
"But Captain..." Scott protested. "The Admiral will be expecting visual communication, won't he?"   
  
There was a brief pause from the speaker. "Can't be helped," Kirk said at last. "Visual communications are down. Complete system overhaul."   
  
Scott's brow furrowed as he glanced at the Lieutenant beside him. "Are they?"   
  
Uhura grinned. "They will be," she said smugly. "Give me a minute."   
  
"Oh, yeah," McCoy mumbled, shaking his head. "No doubt about it. We're all going to prison...every last one of us."   
  
"Sorry, Doctor," came Kirk's voice from the speaker. "I didn't quite read that. Could you repeat?"   
  
"Just do me a favor," McCoy snapped grumpily. "I told Fitzpatrick I had you sedated, so...act sleepy or something, would you?"   
  
There was a grim chuckle from the speaker. "At this point, Bones, it wouldn't be much of a stretch."   
  
"Captain," Uhura said, "I have Admiral Fitzpatrick standing by."   
  
"Go ahead, Lieutenant."   
  
After a moment, the sound of Fitzpatrick's voice filtered through the speaker. "Fitzpatrick here. Go ahead, Enterprise."   
  
"Admiral," came Kirk's acknowledgement. "This is Kirk."   
  
"Jim..." Fitzpatrick said with mild surprise. "I have to admit, I was starting to worry about you."   
  
"Unnecessary, Admiral. I'm fine."   
  
There was a brief pause from the speaker. "What's the problem with communications?" the Admiral said. "I can't seem to get visual."   
  
"Lieutenant Uhura is working on it, Sir...complete overhaul." Kirk quickly changed the subject. "Doctor McCoy tells me you've been trying to reach me."   
  
"Yes." The Admiral's voice softened slightly. "I wanted to tell you this before you heard it from anyone else. The panel of jurists have been assembled ahead of schedule. We've decided to move up the trial date."   
  
There was a long silence from the speaker, finally broken by Kirk's heavy sigh. "When?"   
  
"Tomorrow morning...0900."   
  
"Tomorrow morning?" Kirk exclaimed, as if it were news to him.   
  
"Jim..." Fitzpatrick exhaled an audible breath. "Everyone's already here. Spock has no intention of defending himself. I don't see the need to prolong this any more than absolutely necessary. I think it would be best for everyone concerned..."   
  
"And easier to railroad him into the stockade..." Kirk interjected coldly.   
  
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Fitzpatrick said.   
  
"I don't know anymore, Admiral. You tell me."   
  
"Jim, you're not making this any easier..."   
  
"I have no intention of making this easy, Admiral," Kirk snapped. "Sorry to disappoint you."   
  
It was apparent, even without seeing him, that Fitzpatrick was trying very hard to hold his tongue. "I could try to explain this again, Captain, but it's obvious I would just be wasting my breath. I just thought you would like to hear it from me."   
  
He waited for a response, but Kirk remained stubbornly silent. When the Admiral spoke again, his voice was sullen. "Fitzpatrick out."   
  
Uhura moved swiftly to deactivate the patch and retrieve the Captain's independent signal.   
  
"So, what do we do now?" McCoy said. "You won't even reach Organia until morning."   
  
"I know," Kirk replied quietly. "And worse yet, Spock has no intention of defending himself, so it won't be a very long trial."   
  
McCoy looked quickly into the faces of his cohorts, then back toward the speaker. "Stall?"   
  
"Big," Kirk said. "Big stall. Sulu, can you give us any more speed?"   
  
Sulu's voice sounded distant over the speaker, but it was readable. "We're already pushing it to the limit, Captain. I don't think I could coax another ounce of power out of her."   
  
The Captain swore lightly under his breath. "Bones...Scotty...do whatever you have to, but don't let that trial start until you hear from me. Understood?"   
  
"Aye, Captain," Scott said ruefully.   
  
"We'll do our best, Jim," McCoy said, but he honestly had no idea how they would manage it.   
  
"I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Kirk out."   
  
McCoy heard the click of the severed connection, then looked back into the Engineer's weary face.   
  
"Break out your tap shoes, Mr. Scott," he said. "The show is about to begin."   
  



	22. Chapter 21

DEGUELLO - Chapter 21  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Kirk had gotten very little rest since his last transmission to the Enterprise. His mind was far too preoccupied to allow it.   
  
They were now just minutes away from reaching the planet Organia, and he still had no idea what he was supposed to do once he got there.   
  
The Organians might not even allow them to enter their planetary orbit. They had expressed their wishes on this point quite clearly when they imposed the treaty of peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Specifically, ...both parties will respect the territorial integrity of Organia and make no further attempt to intrude into our planet's territory or affairs...   
  
And even if they were permitted to land, there was still no guarantee that the Organians would agree to speak with him...or that, if they did, they would have anything of significance to say.   
  
The Captain had decided against requesting permission to land, since their very presence in the vicinity of the planet was expressly forbidden by law. Besides, from what he knew of the Organians, they were probably well aware of their presence already.   
  
The ship they had acquired from Starbase Eleven was vastly different from the standard Starfleet design, but Sulu was a remarkably quick study. He handled the alien controls as if he had been born to them, and within a matter of minutes, he had landed the craft almost effortlessly on the surface of Organia.   
  
This was it. They were here. Now it was up to Kirk's powers of persuasion to enlist the Organians' assistance if they had any hope at all of salvaging his First Officer's career.   
  
Kirk's heart pounded in his chest as the doors broke away from the body of the craft, allowing him his first glimpse of the planet he thought he would never set eyes on again.   
  
All the memories of that one previous visit came flooding back to him as he and Sulu descended the steps of the spacecraft. Their landing placed them just outside the stone walls of the village compound where he and Spock had first made contact with the Organians, and Ayelbourne...and Kor.   
  
The bare dirt ground and gray stone edifices were as bleak and dreary as he remembered them. But the Captain had to force himself to remember that all of this was merely a facade, an illusion that the Organians had created to give their comparatively primitive visitors a common point of reference, and to make them feel at home.   
  
There was only one major difference between this visit and his original one. The first time he arrived inside the dismal compound, it had been filled with people. Some were pushing rickety wooden carts through the streets, others had been tending to flocks of farm animals...but there had been at least the illusion of people everywhere.   
  
Now those same streets were ominously silent, the compound completely deserted. And Sulu's tricorder readings only confirmed what Kirk already knew in his heart. There was not a sign of life anywhere.   
  
The two headed quickly for the building which housed the chamber where he had met with the Council of Elders once before. It was exactly as the Captain remembered it...the thick stone walls, the sconces of open flame providing a dim, flickering light, and at the end of the massive hallway the tall wooden doors which led to the inner sanctum of the council chambers.   
  
The doors swung open obligingly at their approach. Kirk glanced quickly at Sulu, then breathed deeply before stepping through them into the room.   
  
It, too, was exactly as he remembered it. The same large, wooden council table stretched across the chamber, surrounded by five chairs bathed in burgundy velvet, the only touch of color in the otherwise dismal surroundings. It was this table before which Kirk had once made an impassioned plea for the Organians to accept his offer of Federation assistance. What a fool he had been!   
  
But still, there was not a soul to be found anywhere. It was now 0830 hours according to his chronometer. The Captain was running out of time.   
  
"Hello!" he called, his voice echoing through the hollow chamber. "Is anyone here?"   
  
He was answered only with silence. Sulu tried the tricorder again, but finally shook his head in frustration. No readings of life forms anywhere.   
  
"Ayelbourne!" Kirk called loudly, hoping that the desperation he felt was not completely reflected in his voice.   
  
"Claymare...Trefayne! Gentlemen, please...I must speak with you!"   
  
After a moment, he felt Sulu's hand rest lightly on his arm. He turned to look into the helmsman's face, but the   
  
Lieutenant was not looking at him.   
  
Kirk turned to follow his gaze toward the large wooden doors of the chamber entrance. Before them stood a robed, bearded figure who offered them a slight bow and a graceful flourish of his hands.   
  
"Welcome to Organia, Captain Kirk."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
McCoy's sense of impending doom was growing stronger by the minute. He had finally managed to encase himself in what Starfleet laughingly called a dress uniform, but he was still tugging at the high, stiff collar when he reached the Enterprise's transporter room.   
  
Scott, Uhura, and Chekov were already waiting for him. And from the looks on their faces, they were just as uncomfortable as he was.   
  
"Are you ready for this?" he asked the Engineer as they moved to mount the steps to the transporter platform.   
  
Scotty shook his head ruefully. "I'd feel a lot better if we had heard from the Captain by now."   
  
McCoy nodded grimly in agreement. "So, what's the game plan?" he asked as Scott gave the signal to begin transport.   
  
Scott gave him a sideways glance. "I was hoping you had one."   
  
As the familiar hum and sparkle of the transporter began, the Doctor heard his own voice echo in his ears.   
  
"Oh, lovely!"   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Ayelbourne." Kirk felt a rush of relief at the sight of the Organian. He could not have asked for a warmer, more gracious reception.   
  
"You look well, Captain," the Organian continued in the familiar lyrical voice. "Far better than our last encounter."   
  
"I'm afraid I don't remember our last encounter, Sir," Kirk replied. "But I understand that I owe you my life."   
  
The Organian waved his hand through the air as if brushing the comment away. "You owe me nothing, Sir," he said. "Let us speak no further of it."   
  
Kirk was suddenly very humbled in the presence of the Organian, and he had to force himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. The clock was ticking, and time showed no mercy.   
  
"Ayelbourne...please forgive the intrusion. I know your people prefer your privacy, but..."   
  
"But still you came."   
  
"Yes."   
  
Ayelbourne finally moved farther into the room toward the large council table. "And what is it you hope to find here, Captain?"   
  
"I don't know." Kirk's voice was nearly a whisper.   
  
The Organian turned a steady gaze on him as he leaned himself back against the table. It seemed like an eternity before he spoke again.   
  
"Then how will you know when you have found it?"   
  
Kirk forced himself to return the gaze. "I seek the truth, Ayelbourne. And I'll know when I find it."   
  
"Will you?" The alien seemed almost amused. "The truth is already within you, Captain, yet you have failed to recognize it."   
  
Kirk's eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't understand."   
  
"You risked a great deal by coming here, Captain," Ayelbourne said. "You must have a compelling motive."   
  
"I do, Sir," Kirk admitted. "Commander Spock is about to go on trial for his actions in the Neutral Zone."   
  
"Yes," Ayelbourne said, his voice and demeanor suddenly very sullen. "I am aware of it. It pains me."   
  
"I've come to ask for your help."   
  
"You do not need my help, Captain," he replied in the tone of a parent to a child. "You have the power within yourself to help Mr. Spock. But you must free yourself of the burdens which obscure the truth that you seek."   
  
Kirk shot a quick glance at Sulu beside him. Judging from the expression on his face, they seemed to agree that this conversation was getting them nowhere.   
  
"I don't wish to appear rude, Sir, but you're talking in riddles...and I'm running out of time."   
The Organian considered him in silence a moment. "You of all people," he said finally, "should realize that time is not an enemy, but an ally. Your ticking clock, as it were, provides the catalyst for some of your race's most remarkable accomplishments."   
  
Kirk's impatience was mounting by the second, but he did his best to remain calm. There had to be a reason for the Organian's evasiveness. The Captain just had to discover what it was.   
  
Time is not an enemy, but an ally. Kirk had to agree. He, himself, had done some of his best work and his clearest thinking under the pressure of a deadline.   
  
The events of the past few days were a perfect example. He had been rescued by the skin of his teeth, when he teetered on the brink of destruction. Unfortunately, the rest of his landing party had not been so fortunate.   
  
The thought of his landing party brought back a flood of anxiety Kirk thought he had overcome. The fear, the frustration, the rage...they all hit him with a staggering force which nearly made his knees buckle under him. His breath quickened as he tried valiantly to steady himself.   
  
"Release your anger, Captain," the Organian urged, his voice still soothingly calm. "It serves no purpose other than to cloud your judgement."   
  
As Kirk gazed into the gentle eyes, he remembered vividly all the pain, the sacrifice, and the loss. The faces of his crew appeared clearly in his memory...Foster, and Graham, and Martina Girard...and he had to swallow hard to find an unsteady voice.   
  
"What took you so long?"   
  
Ayelbourne's expression softened, and he nodded his head in silent approval. It must have been what he was fishing for.   
  
"How do you feel about the Organian Peace Treaty, Captain?"   
  
Kirk stared at him, bewildered. Was that supposed to be an answer to his question?   
  
"What?"   
  
"If you could describe the treaty in one word," Ayelbourne prompted, "what would it be?"   
  
Kirk did not hesitate with his reply. "Inefficient."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because it doesn't settle anything. It doesn't solve any of the problems between our races. It just avoids them."   
  
"Precisely, Captain," Ayelbourne said approvingly. "We were not so naive to believe that we could force your races to become friends. A true, lasting peace must be born in desire, and bred in mutual agreement."   
  
Everything was finally coming together, and Kirk found his meaning uncomfortably clear. "You never had any intention of enforcing the treaty," he said. "It was a bluff."   
  
"Yes, Captain," Ayelbourne confessed. "Your races are still evolving, still growing, still developing...but you both show much potential. We felt that, if we could delay your mutual annihilation long enough, you would develop beyond the need for violence as a solution to your problems."   
  
He continued to gaze at Kirk levelly. "We had hoped that the threat of Organian intervention would be enough to dissuade any further hostilities between you until that time. Apparently we were wrong."   
  
At least it was nice to know that even the Organians were not infallible.   
  
"So why did you intervene?"   
  
"Because I saw something in you, Captain, which impressed me deeply. Something in you...in all of you...which I had failed to recognize before."   
  
"What was that?"   
  
The Organian pushed himself up from his perch on the table to stand before him.   
  
"You had the motive and the means to destroy the Klingon Commander when you took his disrupter from him. Yet you did not."   
  
Kirk felt a twinge of anger in his chest. "I couldn't have even if I had wanted to. He had drained the disrupter."   
  
"But you did not know that at the time, and still you let him live. I was intrigued."   
  
Ayelbourne began to walk a slow circle around the two Enterprise officers as he spoke, studying them intently. The action made Kirk vaguely uneasy, but he held his ground.   
  
"And do you remember a time, Captain, deep inside that barren planet, when you truly believed you were going to die?"   
  
Kirk looked away from the alien's probing eyes. "Yes."   
  
"Do you remember what you said?"   
  
"What I said?" Kirk repeated, puzzled. "No, I don't..."   
  
"You were alone," Ayelbourne explained softly. "You were dying. And yet you found it in yourself to deliver the most eloquent eulogies to friends you thought were lost forever."   
  
It was starting to come back to him now. And he did remember...every word of it.   
  
"Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain...for they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain..." The Organian offered him a gentle smile. "I, too, know Shakespeare."   
  
Kirk was at a complete loss for words. He could only stare at the Organian in stunned silence.   
  
"You believed you would not live to see another day, yet your thoughts were not of yourself, but of your friends. And I was moved."   
  
Ayelbourne's eyes moved to study Sulu a moment before finally turning back to the Captain.   
  
"And these friends of whom you spoke...they intrigued me as well. Rather than follow their human instinct for self-preservation or the commandments of their governing body, they instead chose to follow their hearts to see you safely home."   
  
Kirk exchanged a quick glance with Sulu, but still he said nothing.   
  
"And Commander Spock..." Ayelbourne continued. "He also had the motive and the means to kill the Klingon Commander. Certainly the Klingon was prepared to kill the two of you. Spock considered it...indeed, he came very close to doing it...but he did not. And I was uplifted."   
  
Kirk finally managed to find his voice. "That's why you stepped in when you did."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Do the Klingons know that?"   
  
Ayelbourne breathed deeply. "The Klingons believe what they have been told...that the peace treaty is being enforced to the fullest extent of our power."   
  
Kirk nodded his understanding. "And Spock?"   
  
"I told Commander Spock what I have told you...and that he could express his sense of gratitude by simply keeping the peace."   
  
Kirk head snapped up as the realization struck him. So that was it!   
  
"That's what he's doing," Kirk said. "Keeping the peace. If both sides believe that the treaty is being enforced, it maintains the balance of power."   
  
Ayelbourne nodded with infinite satisfaction. "Precisely, Captain. Your Mr. Spock is an intelligent man. He knows that such information could be dangerous in the wrong hands."   
  
Kirk's brow furrowed slightly. "In the Federation's hands?"   
  
The Organian's voice was as gentle as his gaze. "Men sometimes have their own motivations, Captain. Motivations which, when acted upon, can affect us all."   
  
"What does that mean?"   
  
"Perhaps nothing," Ayelbourne replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps everything."   
  
Kirk looked urgently into the Organian's eyes. "Ayelbourne...I know you've involved yourself in this more than you ever intended, but...come back with me. Let Spock off the hook. Tell the Federation what you've told me."   
  
He paused for a moment as he studied the alien's face. Ayelbourne's expression was unreadable.   
  
"Please, Ayelbourne," he urged. "We're running out of time. Spock's trial will be starting any minute now."   
  
"No, Captain," the Organian said quietly. "It has already begun."   
  



	23. Chapter 22

DEGUELLO - Chapter 22  
by Trish Bennett   
  
When the Enterprise officers finally arrived at the Starbase courtroom, they found the atmosphere there resembled the dizzying commotion of an old-fashioned circus.   
  
The gallery was already filled with people, many of whom McCoy recognized as members of the Enterprise crew. And as he and the other officers moved to line the front row, he had to admit that it was a striking display of moral support for the First Officer of the Enterprise.   
  
As the trial officially began, a hush fell over the crowded courtroom. McCoy watched in nervous silence as the proceedings opened like a well-rehearsed, finely-tuned drama.   
  
The court recorder entered first and moved to position himself rigidly beside the computer table.   
  
Moments later, Spock entered the courtroom and proceeded directly to the table designated for the defense. His face was absolutely expressionless, and he stood at rigid attention beside the table, his hands locked firmly behind his back.   
  
The entire gallery rose to their feet at the entrance of Admiral Fitzpatrick and the three officers who comprised the panel of jurists. McCoy found it interesting that Portmaster Stone, the base commander who had officiated at Kirk's court martial hearing, had relinquished the court to the Admiral and taken a subordinate position on the board.   
  
Once they were all in their appointed seats, Fitzpatrick raised the brass mallet to strike an ancient naval ship's bell.   
  
"The General Court of Starbase Eleven is now in session," he announced crisply. "The defendant will remain standing. All others, please be seated."   
  
He paused briefly while the members of the gallery seated themselves, then looked squarely into the Vulcan's dispassionate face.   
  
"Commander Spock," he said at last. "You are certainly aware of the severity of these proceedings. I must ask you again, before we begin, to reconsider your declination of defense counsel."   
  
Spock remained as aloof as ever. "I do not require counsel, Admiral."   
  
Fitzpatrick's eyes betrayed his disapproval, but he continued without hesitation.   
  
"Very well. I have appointed as members of this court Portmaster Stone; Starfleet Command Representative Chandra; and Starfleet Captain Martinez. You have the right to ask for substitute officers if you feel that any of these named harbor prejudice to your case."   
  
"I have no objections, Sir," Spock replied.   
  
"Do you also consent to my service as Chief Judge?"   
  
"Affirmative, Admiral."   
  
Fitzpatrick squared his shoulders. "Commander Spock, you are charged with insubordination. Specifications: In that, on Stardate 5896.3, you did willfully disobey direct Starfleet order in an attempt to rescue Captain Kirk and members of his landing party from Klingon terrorists. You are also charged with a violation of interstellar law. Specifications: In that, on the same stardate, you did willfully order the Enterprise into an established Neutral Zone to carry out said rescue attempt. To these charges and specifications, how do you plead?"   
  
"I plead guilty, Your Honor," Spock replied without hesitation.   
  
Fitzpatrick gazed at him steadily a moment, then turned to the court recorder. "Please read Commander Spock's service file into the court records."   
  
The young man quickly responded by sliding an identity disk into the recorder. A moment later, the room was filled with the sound of the computer's feminine monotone.   
  
"Spock," it said. "Serial number S-179-276-SP. Service Rank: Commander. Position: First Officer, Science Officer. Current Assignment: U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701. Commendations: Vulcan Scientific Legion of Honor. Awards of Valor: Twice decorated by Starfleet Command."   
  
Fitzpatrick looked back at the Vulcan. "Is there anything you wish to say in your own defense, Commander?"   
  
"I offer no excuses, Admiral," Spock said. "I believe there can be no defense. I was aware of my actions when I took them. I was also aware of the consequences involved, and I am prepared to face those consequences."   
  
This can't be it!, McCoy thought. Kirk had said that, without offering a defense, it would be a short trial. But the Doctor had no idea that a man's entire career could crumble at his feet after just a few brief words quoted from an official Starfleet manual.   
  
McCoy jammed his elbow into the ribs of the Chief Engineer at his side. "Do something!" he whispered urgently.   
  
It was clear that Scotty was just as puzzled and amazed as he was. After a moment, though, a look of determination crossed his face, and he rose somewhat awkwardly to his feet.   
  
"Er..." Scott mumbled quickly. "Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer, U.S.S. Enterprise. Request permission to address the court."   
  
Fitzpatrick gazed at him over the high desk with mild curiosity. "Permission granted."   
  
Scott moved past McCoy and through the thigh-high partition to stand just inside the court arena.   
  
"If it would please the court," he began somewhat hesitantly, but as he spoke the words seemed to come much easier. "I feel that Commander Spock was faced with a very difficult choice. I don't know what I would have done had I been in his place. But he did what he thought was best for the Enterprise as well as for Captain Kirk. I hope that the court will take that into consideration when making their decision."   
  
McCoy glanced quickly toward Spock at the defense table. His expression was absolutely unreadable, and he continued to gaze stolidly at the front of the judge's bench.   
  
Fitzpatrick, however, studied the Scotsman closely, as if unsure what to make of the oration. "Thank you, Mr. Scott," he said finally. "You may be seated."   
  
As the Engineer moved back to his seat, McCoy saw no other option. He followed Scotty's lead and rose quickly to his feet.   
  
"Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy," he said crisply. "Chief Medical Officer, U.S.S. Enterprise. Request permission to address the court."   
  
Fitzpatrick's eyes narrowed slightly. "Granted," he said finally.   
  
The Doctor moved quickly to assume Scott's previous position just inside the arena.   
  
"Admiral," McCoy said, "I agree that Mr. Spock did what he thought was best, but I think you should know he did not reach that decision entirely on his own. We all played a part in persuading him to take the action that he did. And I think it is very unfair of the court to place the responsibility for that action entirely on one person."   
  
The Admiral's steady gaze suddenly became very intimidating.   
  
"Uh..." McCoy muttered uneasily. "That's all I...really had to say..."   
  
Fitzpatrick looked into Spock's expressionless face before turning back to McCoy. "Your opinion is duly noted, Doctor," he said sternly. "Please be seated."   
  
As McCoy returned to his seat in the gallery, he glanced quickly at Uhura and Chekov, attempting to urge them on.   
The Captain had told them to stall the proceedings as long as possible. This could be their only remaining hope. If they could just get the other 428 members of the Enterprise crew to do the same thing, they might still have a fighting chance.   
  
McCoy almost laughed at the absurdity of the notion, though there was nothing funny about it in the least.   
Jim...where the hell are you?...   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The Organian's words struck Kirk like a blow. It has already begun. He searched the alien's face for the slightest hint of agreement.   
  
"Ayelbourne, please..." he said. "You must help me. Three members of my crew gave their lives for this insanity. Please don't let Spock be added to that list."   
  
Ayelbourne considered him thoughtfully. "You have deep feelings for Commander Spock."   
  
Kirk nodded. "He is my friend."   
  
"Yes. Be that as it may, you cannot allow yourself to dwell on his predicament."   
  
Kirk gazed at his host with mounting alarm. "You're telling me I should just turn my back on him? Forget about him?"   
  
"You must, Captain," the Organian replied. "It may be the only way to save him."   
  
Kirk shook his head in frustration. "Ayelbourne, you're not making any sense..."   
  
The Organian treated him to a look of absolute compassion. "I have witnessed the greatest virtues in the universe, Captain. I have also witnessed its greatest atrocities. But I cannot make the distinction for you. You must make that determination for yourselves."   
  
Kirk closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying desperately to remain calm. "Ayelbourne," he said finally with rigid control. "I would love to debate universal truths with you any other time, but right now Spock's life is on the line.   
  
Now will you help him, or won't you?"   
  
"I have great faith that you, yourself, will find a way to help Commander Spock," he said, resting a hand on the Captain's shoulder. "After all, you are running out of time."   
  
In that flash of an instant, Kirk found himself in the back of the courtroom at Federation Starbase Eleven with Sulu still positioned firmly beside him. The Organian, however, was nowhere to be found.   
  
The bright white light that usually accompanied such an entrance was curiously absent from their transport. And with the drama that was unfolding at the front of the crowded courtroom, their sudden appearance went completely unnoticed.   
  
Sulu started forward, but the Captain stopped him by laying a hand on his arm. The Organian had gotten them where they needed to be, but it was clear Spock's defense rested entirely in Kirk's hands. He had to get his bearings if he had any chance at all of helping his friend. And, for now at least, he thought it best to remain silent.   
  
Kirk watched Doctor McCoy move back into the gallery from where he had been standing inside the arena. What the hell was he doing?   
  
As soon as the Doctor had returned to his seat, Pavel Chekov rose rather unsteadily to his feet.   
  
"Ensign Pavel Chekov," he said nervously. "Navigator, U.S.S. Enterprise. Request permission to address the court."   
  
Fitzpatrick glanced quickly toward the other board members before turning back to the Ensign. He seemed almost amused.   
  
"Granted."   
  
Chekov moved quickly through the partition into the arena. "I would just like to say, Admiral, that Mr. Spock is a credit to the Enterprise. He is a perfectionist...and I think it makes us all work a little harder to live up to his expectations."   
  
Fitzpatrick shook his head in amazement. "Very well," he said at last. "You may be seated, Ensign."   
  
As Chekov moved back to his seat, Uhura rose from her chair without a moment's hesitation and moved to take his place inside the arena.   
  
"Lieutenant Uhura," she said. "Chief Communications Officer, U.S.S. Enterprise. Request permission to address the court."   
  
The Admiral shook his head. A smile played on his lips as he turned to the court recorder.   
  
"Let the record show that the entire crew of the Enterprise wishes to speak on behalf of Mr. Spock."   
  
Kirk's eyes narrowed as he stared at the Admiral behind the high judicial bench. A distinguished officer's career, his very life, was on the line, and his fellow officers were rallying to his aid. What in that bleak situation could the Admiral find so amusing? Kirk found that he could no longer hold his tongue.   
  
"You're hearing them, Admiral...but you're not listening to them."   
  
Kirk moved slowly up the aisle as he spoke, trying to ignore the fact that his stride bordered on a haltering limp.   
  
Fitzpatrick straightened his spine at the sound of Kirk's voice, and his eyes scanned the gallery until they fell upon the Captain. The Admiral's face clouded almost immediately, creating an expression that was unreadable.   
  
"I was wondering when you'd show up," he said evenly, his tone matching his expression.   
  
Although Kirk was aware of the stunned gazes of the court audience, his eyes never left the Admiral's face.   
  
"James T. Kirk," he said finally. "Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise. Request permission to address the court."   
  
The Admiral paused an unbearably long moment before he finally responded. "Granted."   
  
Kirk finally passed through the partition to stand before the judge's bench in the center of the court arena. He gazed at his First Officer at the defense table for a long moment before turning back to face the Admiral.   
  
Kirk had no idea where to begin. His conversation with the Organian had left him frustrated and bewildered. Though he now understood Ayelbourne's motivation for coming to their aid, his visit to Organia had not provided him with the clear-cut defense he had sought for his First Officer.   
  
His only hope now was to talk it through, and to hope he could strike some chord with his fellow officers comprising the court martial board.   
  
"With all due respect to the members of this court," he said, "I would like the record to show my formal protest of these proceedings."   
  
"Captain," Fitzpatrick replied with a hint of disapproval. "The court is well aware of your feelings in this matter. However, your protest will be duly noted in the court records."   
  
Kirk's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked into the Admiral's face. Fitzpatrick's demeanor was cool and stern, not at all what the Captain was accustomed to when dealing with the elder officer. Maybe it was the burden of the court martial, an uncomfortable situation to say the least. But no matter the reason, Kirk found the Admiral's manner extremely disquieting.   
  
"How can you sit in judgement of this man when you don't even begin to understand his motivations?"   
  
"We understand Commander Spock's motivations, Captain," Fitzpatrick said sternly, "and we can sympathize. But even the best intentions are no excuse for a blatant violation of established law."   
  
"The law you're referring to was established by the people of Organia," Kirk countered. "If anyone should take offense at a violation of that law, shouldn't it be them?"   
  
"You're grasping at straws now, Captain. Is there a point to this?"   
  
Kirk wanted desperately to tell the Admiral everything. Spock's actions in the Neutral Zone were the primary reason for the Organian's assistance. His actions were quite probably the only reason that the Federation was not currently engaged in a bloody war with the Klingons. He wanted to disclaim the Organian Peace Treaty for what it was...a reprieve. But something Ayelbourne had said resounded clearly in his memory.   
  
...such information could be dangerous in the wrong hands...   
  
"The point, Admiral, is Commander Spock's career. This man has proven his loyalty to Starfleet time and time again. He has devoted his life to the Federation, and has been decorated for it on numerous occasions. Now that life is on the line...and for what? What exactly was his crime?"   
  
"The charges and specifications have already been read into the court records," the Admiral replied coldly. "If you had been here, you would already know that."   
  
Kirk had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Something was dreadfully wrong. Beligerence and hostility were two things he had never heard from John Fitzpatrick, and yet that was all Kirk was sensing now. What was going on?   
  
And again, the Organian's words echoed in his memory. ...men sometimes have their own motivations, Captain. Motivations which, when acted upon, can affect us all...   
  
"You knew of the Klingons' plan to test the Organian Peace Treaty," Kirk said. "Spock was not privy to that information. He was forced to act in accordance with his conscience, his duty and his oath to Starfleet, and I believe he did just that. How can he be punished for it now?"   
  
"You're changing the subject, Captain," the Admiral interjected quickly. "I believe we were discussing your late arrival to the court. I know you haven't been aboard the Enterprise the past few days. I'd like to know where you've been, Captain. I think the court would find it very interesting."   
  
Kirk realized that it was Fitzpatrick who was trying very hard to change the subject. It was as if he was trying to direct the court's attention away from...something else...   
  
The Organian had told Kirk that he should forget about the plight of his First Officer. It may be the only way to save him. The meaning of those words were now uncomfortably clear. Mr. Spock was not the issue. This trial was a smoke-screen, a way to draw everyone's attention away from...   
  
"It was you!"   
  
Fitzpatrick continued to gaze at him steadily, but it was obvious from his expression that he was shaken by the Captain's accusation. "I don't know what you're talking about."   
  
Kirk was breathing heavily now, and he gazed at the Admiral in mounting disgust. "You knew about the Klingon offensive. You even brought me here to offer me a choice of a counter-offensive. You had no authority to make that offer, did you, Admiral?"   
  
"Tread lightly, Captain," Fitzpatrick warned, his voice firm but subdued. "You're on pretty shaky ground."   
  
"I don't think so, Admiral."   
  
"Neither do I," said Commodore Stone, rising from his seat on the board. He stared at the Admiral solemnly. "The court will hear this witness. Please continue, Captain."   
  
Kirk tried to acknowledge the Commodore's request, but he found he could not look away from Fitzpatrick's face.   
  
"You said the Klingons already had the Enterprise's mission docket. And Kor told me it was a simple matter to obtain it. I know Federation security procedures, Admiral...and to bypass them would be far from simple. You gave it to them, didn't you?"   
  
Fitzpatrick looked as though he wanted to refute the Captain's statement, but he apparently couldn't bring himself to do it while looking Kirk directly in the eye.   
  
  
"They would have gotten it anyway," he confessed softly. "I just made it a little easier for them."   
  
Kirk was suddenly hit with a nauseating flood of memories...the pain, and the loss, and the grief...and it took a concerted effort to keep his legs steady beneath him. His crew had been to hell and back in the past few days, and one of their own had led them to it. He found he could only stare at the Admiral in utter repulsion.   
  
"Why, John?"   
  
"Because I had to know," he said, his voice somewhat stronger now. "The Federation had to know. And the Council is so blinded by politics and diplomacy that they refuse to face the facts."   
  
"What are the facts, Admiral?" Kirk spat angrily.   
  
"That the peace and stability of the Federation rests entirely in the edict of an alien race...an edict which, until now, had never been proven. But the validity of the treaty had to be verified...and the opportunity presented itself. I did what I had to do in the interest of Federation security."   
  
"Tell that to the families of my dead crewmen," Kirk replied sullenly.   
  
Fitzpatrick's eyes closed briefly, then finally opened to look back into the Captain's face.   
  
"Jim, you have to believe I never intended any of this to turn out the way it did. I grieve for the loss of your landing party...and I am truly sorry for what you've been through. But please try to understand. We had to know."   
  
There was an unbearably long silence in the courtroom before Commodore Stone finally found his voice. He was clearly shaken.   
  
"Admiral Fitzpatrick," he said at last. "By the authority vested in me as a Starfleet Commodore, I hereby relieve you of your duties, and am placing you under arrest pending an official hearing into this matter. Security..."   
  
A security team promptly appeared in front of the high judicial bench. Fitzpatrick offered no resistance. He rose from his chair with all the dignity he could muster and moved to join the security team on the floor of the court arena.   
Fitzpatrick started toward the doors flanked by the guards, but suddenly hesitated, then turned back to face the Captain.   
  
"I am sorry, Jim," he said.   
  
Kirk found he could no longer look at Admiral Fitzpatrick. He looked away as the security team led the Admiral through the doors of the courtroom.   
  
The Commodore waited until they were gone before he leaned in to consult briefly with his fellow board members. It took only a moment before he straightened and moved to assume the Admiral's former position behind the high bench.   
  
"Will the defendant please rise?"   
  
Spock rose to his feet, clasping his hands firmly behind his back as he faced the Commodore.   
  
"Commander Spock...I am sure you are aware that Starfleet does not condone insubordination by its officers, nor do we condone your decision to disregard established law." He gazed solemnly into the Vulcan's face. "However...given the circumstances, it is clear to this court that you acted in the best interests of the Federation and the crew under your command...and we cannot condemn you for that. A formal reprimand will be placed in your service file, but the charges against you in this court are hereby dismissed. You are free to return to duty."   
  
He moved to strike the naval bell once with the mallet, but it could barely be heard over the clamor of the gallery.   
"This court stands adjourned."   
  
Kirk realized only at that moment that Doctor McCoy had a firm grip on his arm, and that he had actually been relying on the Doctor's steadying force. He and McCoy breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.   
  
Kirk looked around him, searching for Spock in the swarm of people now surrounding them in the court arena. As his eyes scanned the crowd, he noticed a robed, bearded figure at the rear of the court who offered him a gentle smile and an elaborate flourish of his hands. Kirk returned the smile and mouthed the words, "Thank you", and Ayelbourne silently vanished from the court.   
  
Glancing around, Kirk realized his entire senior staff were happily crowded around him. He looked up to find himself face to face with his First Officer.   
  
"Request permission to return to duty, Captain," Spock said, as if nothing at all had happened.   
  
Kirk stared at him, then broke into a weary but delighted chuckle. He offered Spock a warm handshake.   
  
"Permission granted, Mr. Spock," he said happily. "Permission granted."   
  



	24. Epilogue

DEGUELLO - Epilogue  
by Trish Bennett   
  
Kirk was adjusting the collar of his dress uniform when the door buzzer sounded.   
  
"Come," he called loudly.   
  
McCoy ambled through the doors as they opened, tugging at the collar of his own uniform. "I hate this thing!" he mumbled grumpily. "Starfleet tailors are really just Engineering drop-outs, aren't they?"   
  
Kirk grinned and moved toward his desk as the Doctor dropped himself heavily onto the sofa.   
  
"Are you ready for this?" McCoy asked.   
  
Kirk sighed deeply, then nodded as he lowered himself into his chair. "I think so."   
  
McCoy studied him closely. "So what's wrong?"   
  
The Captain shook his head. "I was just thinking...how inferior the Organians always make me feel."   
  
"Maybe that's because we are."   
  
"I know. It's just not a pleasant feeling to realize you're not as civilized as you like to think you are."   
  
McCoy shrugged. "Yeah, but you've got to realize it took centuries of evolution to get where we are right now. I kind of see the Organians as something for us to look forward to."   
  
"Maybe."   
  
"Besides," McCoy continued, "I don't think we're so bad off the way we are. At least we've developed beyond the point of killing each other for no reason. I think once we reach the point where we can accept other species the way we've accepted our own, we'll be doing pretty well."   
  
Kirk eyed him slyly. "Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. Doctor, I believe you're beginning to sound like Spock."   
  
McCoy's eyes widened in mock horror. "Oh, God! I am!"   
  
The Captain chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, Bones. Your secret is safe with me."   
  
The door buzzer sounded again, and Kirk called for Spock to enter. He stepped into the room as the doors opened, looking relaxed and confident.   
  
"Captain," the Vulcan acknowledged quickly.   
  
McCoy winked impishly at Kirk. "His ears must be burning."   
  
Spock offered him a puzzled glance, then raised his hand to finger the tip of one ear. "Is there a reason they should be, Doctor?"   
  
Kirk chuckled again and shook his head in amazement. "How do you two ever manage when I'm not here?"   
McCoy shrugged. "I just ignore him. He usually goes away."   
  
"Indeed, Captain," Spock agreed. "The problem is finding a moment when the Doctor is not talking so that I can make a polite departure."   
  
Kirk rose smoothly from his chair and reached for a single rose from the corner of his desk.   
  
"Come on, you two," he said, heading for the door. "We still have a duty to perform."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The chapel was already filled with people when they arrived for the memorial service. Kirk paused a moment just inside the doorway as Spock and McCoy took their places in the front row of the assembly.   
  
The two black caskets sat in front of the podium at the head of the chapel. Between them sat a table, adorned only by the holographic image of Lieutenant Foster.   
  
Kirk breathed deeply before moving to stand behind the podium. He carefully avoided eye contact with the crew as he spoke.   
  
"We are gathered here today to pay final respects to our fallen comrades. Times like these tend to remind us of the great danger and sacrifice that we face each day in the service of the Federation."   
  
Kirk voice softened noticeably. "But I hope we can also remember that peace and freedom in our galaxy is worthy of the price we sometimes have to pay...and that is the reason all of us are here."   
  
The Captain inhaled deeply as he gazed down at the caskets before him, then finally into the faces of his crew.   
  
"Our friends gave their lives in the performance of their duties. For that, they have our eternal gratitude."   
  
Spock rose smoothly from his chair, as if on cue. "Attention!" he said crisply.   
  
The entire audience rose in a moment of silence for their departed colleagues. The First Officer waited patiently before he finally spoke again.   
  
"Dismissed."   
  
Kirk moved from behind the podium to place the single rose on the casket of Martina Girard. He lingered there only a moment, then straightened his shoulders and headed for the doors.   
  
The rest of the crew gave him a moment, the one by one began to file out of the chapel.   
  
Doctor McCoy watched after them sullenly before moving toward the casket. He picked up the card that was attached to the Captain's offering and unfolded it to find a Shakespearean sonnet printed neatly inside.   
It read:   
When to the sessions of sweet, silent thought  
I summon up remembrance of things past,  
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,  
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:   
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,  
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,  
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe,  
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight.   
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,  
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er  
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,  
Which I new pay as if not paid before.   
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,  
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end.   
  



End file.
